


Forgotten and Desponded

by MarleyWarriors



Category: The Inpatient (Video Game), Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Cannibalism, Gen, M/M, Slow Burn, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:53:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24126184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarleyWarriors/pseuds/MarleyWarriors
Summary: “I have written many stories. Infiltrated murder investigations, corrupt corporations, and explored abandoned hospitals. Yet when I saw those miners... it was... it was more than just a story. It was a miracle. How they still managed to stand and smile for a photograph...” Bernstein ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair, looking back to his editor now. “But now they have fallen off the face of the earth, hidden behind a big name. The miners should long be recovered and back with their families. And I got beat up just for wanting to see them? ...No, you know there is something fishy going on. I did not go through this beating just to have this story stolen right from underneath my feet.” Slowly his eyes raised from the ground to face his editor, his expression unusually soft as he exhaled deeply. “I was there when this all started, and I want to be there when it all ends. Don’t take this story from me.”It was just supposed to be another day in the life of journalist Chuck. It could have been, it should have been. But things were not right at the Blackwood Pines Sanatorium.
Relationships: David Miller/Suzanne Daniels, Gordon Bennet/Chuck Bernstein, Gordon Bennet/Inpatient
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic ever, and also my first time using AO3. I hope it worked alright though. I am sorry for any grammar or punctuation mistakes or any errors in sentence structure. English is not my first language, and I unfortunately do not have a Beta. The story will also be written in Australian English, sorry. I wanted to write this story in a way so that readers can understand what is happening without having to have seen both The Inpatient and Until Dawn. So I am sorry if it might at times seem repetitive for those who already know the story. Because the fandom is dead, I don't think many people are going to read this in the first place. But thank you so much if you did read it! :D  
> 

_The Blackwood Pines Sanatorium_

_Mens Sana in Corpore Sano_

_A healthy mind in a healthy body_

The fresh winter air was crisp, puncturing Gordon’s lungs like a thousand needles. The snow glistened and danced in playful sparkles as the sun rose. Gordon Bennet could not even feel his frozen nose anymore, rubbing his hands together. Today was his birthday. 36 years old. Wars had come and gone, a global recession and depression, famine and disease, struggles and cries of pain all in just one lifetime.

His younger sister Anna stood beside him, seeking out his warmth. 

“It just had to be on my birthday, didn’t it? We have to dig up bodies on my birthday. Geez, I remember the time when we still would have festivals in the grand lounge, drinking and eating caviar... whatever happened?” 

Anna listened to her brother, silently contemplating. All doctors were on standby for the rescue of the miners. But it had been a month, and deep inside they all knew that there would likely be no survivors. Her response came out with clouds of condensation. “That was the year the war ended, not that long ago Gordon. We celebrated and danced in cheers of our victory.” She then nudged him softly. “Don’t worry. Your birthday can still be great. Just make a wish.” 

“What am I? A child?” Came the retort from the dark brunette, struggling to keep warm. 

“...I don’t know, maybe that we find some survivors,” he mumbled. 

Anna shook her head. “That doesn’t count. And of course, we all hope that.” 

Gordon sighed, now looking over the snowfields and mountains peaks, beautiful, peaceful... and among them, his gaze fell onto the distant reporters. He watched one reporter as he pushed his way forward, pale skin flushed red with the cold, sandy blonde hair shining gold in the morning sun. Anna’s dark oak eyes followed his gaze before smirking knowingly. “Hm... I see you already wished for something.” 

Gordon quickly recovered his distracted gaze, huffing. “Not in public Anna. You know the laws. It’s illegal.”

“This is Canada Gordon. We are more advanced than that. Besides you already wished, no take-backs anymore.” 

Gordon was about to tell her off as a shout silenced the very mountain. 

“We have located survivors!”

Back then Gordon could not have possibly known it, but this was the worst birthday gift he had ever received in his life.

_THE ALBERTA POST_

_5th January 1952_

_THE MIRACLE MEN OF BLACKWOOD MOUNTAIN_

_‘BLACKWOOD PINES, Chuck Bernstein._

_None of the miners had ever expected that after entering the mines in early December of last year that they would be spending their Christmas and New Year down in the shafts. A structural collapse had blocked all hope of escape for the men. All workers were feared to have perished in the incident. Rescue seemed all out of hope, with the clearing of the collapsed mine taking almost a month to complete. But today the effort paid off, as in a moment of cheers and tears the miners were brought back to the sun-kissed surface. Owner Bragg Jefferson had his own Sanatorium medical staff on standby to ensure the utmost care be given to his miners._

_Tensions were rising as the first miner was brought back up, with many having suspected to find either emancipated shells of former men, or indeed the more tragic news of death. But instead what emerged were all 12 miners, alive by what can only be described as a miracle._

* * *

“I really just want to go home and see my family again... that’s all I need. They will make me feel better.” The miner Billy Bates sat in front of three doctors, hands folded and elbows rested on his knees as he leaned forward. Goldberg Variations replayed on loop in the background. The brightness of the sterile white room was a strong contrast to that of the bitch black mines, filled with nothing but dirt, soot, engulfing darkness... and the blood... So much sticky, slick, warm blood. Bates swallowed hard, still feeling as if the metallic taste clung to his lips. The ghost of the after taste no longer seemed to bother him, eyes pleading as he looked to the men before him. 

“You have been trapped in a mine for almost a month Billy. It’s okay to feel distressed, confused and lost. You don’t have to put in a brave face anymore... Many of your friends never made it out,” A doctor whose name tag read out N. Bowen had replied, voice soft as he looked up from his clipboard. Another doctor, Dr Castle was currently drawing blood for examination as well as looking over the Miner’s skin and checking his pupils.

The third man, the youngest looking of all sat quietly, eyes always on his clipboard. Gordon squiggled down his own illegible writing, looking up only to examine the miner further. “Alright...” Gordon looked over his notes before looking to Dr Bowen. “Is that it? This examination still feels incomplete.” Bowen gestured back to the patient as if telling Gordon to knock himself out. Gordon turned his attention back to Bates, curious. “You know... in all honesty, I thought you would all be dead. But you actually look surprisingly healthy.” 

Billy’s heart rate jumped a notch at that, the sound drowning out the background music. “Sorry doc, but was there a question to that? …We already told you, we found emergency food supplies.” 

Gordon looked over him, dark eyes focused. “Yes. You don’t look starved or on the brink of death. You look healthy for someone who was trapped in a cave in for a month. It’s good you found the emergency food supplies. None of us even knew there were any.” Gordon sat back into his seat more comfortably, gaze easing off the miner. “I guess it’s not really a question after all. It’s just interesting, ...the Miracle men.” The other two doctors had nodded at that, faces expressing equal astonishment and curiosity. Bowen then rose from his seat, patting Bates on the shoulder. “We’ve got all we need for our report, for now go back to your room and rest up.”

There was only silence as Bates kept his head to the ground, still pondering the earlier words. Miracle men? If only they knew. 

_MINER MEDICAL REPORT_

_ATTENDING PHYSICIAN: Dr N. H. Bowen_

_MEDICAL REPORT:_

_Report follows re: the initial state of the twelve miners after the collapse of the mine, and subsequent rescue, at Blackwood Pines._

_ADMITTANCE:_

_On receipt of the twelve patients at the Sanatorium's medical facility, we had fully expected to find emaciated shells of men, starved and confused. Thankfully, the miners appear cogent and relatively healthy, attributed to their apparent discovery of emergency food supplies in the mine. Inhibited respiratory function was detected in a few of the older men, as predicted, as well as symptoms of pneumonia._

_Psychologically, after being trapped for 23 days, the shock of reintegration has been difficult for some of the group. Though their outward health is better than expected, they do seem affected by their time in the mine._

_TREATMENT:_

_Due to the delicate nature of some of the patients, we have closed off the A-Wing of the Sanatorium. Psychological evaluation will take place as soon as possible. The men with respiratory problems have undergone a bronchoscopy, and are prescribed a course of streptomycin. The others are simply kept under strict, 24-hour observation._

_Dr Nicholas Henry Bowen._


	2. Infiltration

It was like a dance, albeit an ungraceful one. Unrefined and rough in its execution, but still delicate in its own way. Even with all his experience, Chuck had never quite mastered these dances. He evaded the hit once, leaping further back in defence. Taking the offensive had never been his strong suite, no matter how big he might talk. Rather than throwing his own punches, Chuck held onto his camera protectively. It were as if the device contained his very life force and being. Which in some ways it did. He would not give it up, that would be giving up a part of himself. 

Somewhere along the dance he must have miss-stepped, missed a cue. The pain in his chest was sharp, knocking the very breath out of Chuck as he sank to his knees, clutching his ribs. The dance was over, the game was lost. There Chuck was pinned to the ground by security staff, tearing his precious device away from him. The guard threw it to the ground like it was nothing, clearly wanting to destroy any evidence held in the camera. Stomping down on it felt like Chuck’s very soul was being shattered, rather than just the camera lens. Soul soon didn’t matter for much longer, his body being next. The feeling of being lifted only to be slammed back against the hard cold, a boot crashing down in his head. It didn’t feel like it was happening to Chuck, it felt like it was being done to someone else. The pain had ceased, the ache dissipated... it just felt cold... dark and cold...

He didn’t know it back then, he didn’t realise as days went on... but now, looking back- it was so clear. That day had been the beginning of the end. 

_THE ALBERTA POST_

_9th January 1952_

_REPORTER ASSAULTED ON BLACKWOOD MOUNTAIN_

_‘BLACKWOOD PINES, Adam Burns_

_A reporter from Alberta Bugle was assaulted and hospitalized yesterday by security personnel at the Blackwood Sanatorium. Chuck Bernstein, a news reporter, was seeking an interview with the miners dramatically rescued on Tuesday. The men had been trapped underground for over three weeks after a structural collapse at the North West Mine in December and are now being treated at Blackwood Sanatorium for malnutrition and trauma._

_Jefferson Bragg, sole proprietor of both the North West Mining Company and the Blackwood Sanatorium, told the Bugle yesterday that the incident was "unfortunate." And that "a full internal enquiry had been launched." He also claimed that Bernstein had been "trespassing on Sanatorium grounds without permission."_

_It is believed that the assault arose from an argument about Bernstein's camera which was confiscated immediately prior to the attack.’_

12th January 1952 

“It sold, didn’t it?” 

“Excuse you?” 

Chuck looked back up from his hospital bed, voice firmer and sharper. “It sold, did it not?” The article sat on his bedside table, staring back at him in mockery. His failure, immortalised for all to see.

“You stubborn fool. Look at yourself, knocked down in a bed, refusing to listen to a word I have to say.” Chuck’s editor gritted his teeth. “I said you are off the case, Adam will be taking any cases regarding the Miners from now on.”

There was a pause, silence engulfing the hospital room. “How many did you sell? I imagine it is more than you could have hoped for.” Chuck Bernstein laid there in his bed, an arm draped over his bandaged chest. Even in his weakness he stared at his editor defiantly. It was easier than looking at the newspaper, that was for sure. “It does not matter if it was another one of your writers, you still made money on what happened to me.” It was clear that the reporter felt like he had been done a great injustice, hand softly rubbing over his bruises. Chuck was embarrassed. He was supposed to have written the story, but now he had become the story. Betrayed his co-worker's none the less. What a mockery.

“Yes, it sold. Your failure at interviewing the miners sold. It sold like hot buns. The people want more.” The editor sighed. There was a pause, tension building up like a constant unwavering static.

“We will give them more. I will give them more.” Bernstein’s eyes did not waver from his editor, brows furrowed. The editor was about to protest, about to reinforce that Chuck was off the case. That it would be handed on to someone more reliable. But Chuck did not give him the time to retort. “Consider this story your sick little bonus. You owe me after publishing my story. I was out cold for days! ...Did you even care?” The words came across more bitter rather than angry. “...I have been working for you since I was 17. I started with filing your papers, remember? That was almost 17 years ago. I have dedicated my all to this, risked my life more times than I can count on my fingers.” The earlier bitterness subsided slowly, his editor sighing. “Yes. Yes of course I remember. I also remember you being nothing more than a street lad, driven to a life of crime by the great depression. A mess of a man with no hope of a future.”

Chuck nodded in acknowledgement, voice becoming unusually soft now. “I know... You gave me a chance when no one else could or would. Heaven’s man... never would have thought that a simple interview could get this bad. Being beat to a pulp is one thing, but then you go on and write a story about it? Because I missed one goddam story?!”

“I’m sorry you feel betrayed Chuck, but this was not to embarrass you. You missed your story and we had to make up for it. It was just something to fill the gap, keep the publishing house going.” Truth be told the Alberta Bugle had not expected this story to be such a hit, not that they complained of course. Anything to do with the Blackwood Pines Sanatorium was hot news at the moment. 

Chuck sat up, legs now dangling from his bed as he forced himself up with a grunt. Still grimacing he took a few steps towards the window. Even this simple movement sent a sharp pain pounding against the walls of a concussion begging for rest. Chuck bit down hard, teeth grinding as he softly rubbed his head in hopes of easing the pain. 

His editor would have protested, but there was no point. Chuck was a stubborn man, instead he waited for the journalists next retort. 

“The day the miners were rescued, there was so much anticipation. My heart was racing as I watched them free the men. They were crying in relief... It should have been impossible. I was ready to write off the bodies and call it a day...” The Journalists breathing slowly evened out. “I have written many stories. Infiltrated murder investigations, corrupt corporations, explored abandoned hospitals, I even used my heritage to successfully infiltrate Nazi’s in hiding. Yet when I saw those miners... it was... it was more than just a story. It was a miracle. How they still managed to stand and smile for a photograph...” Bernstein ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair, looking back to his editor now. “But now they have fallen off the face of the earth, hidden behind a big name. The miners should long be recovered and back with their families. And I got beat up just for wanting to see them? ...No, you know there is something fishy going on. I did not go through this beating just to have this story stolen right from underneath my feet.” Chuck had to lean against the wall for support, now regretting getting out of his bed just to prove that he was fine. But here he was now, and this was his last chance. Slowly his eyes raised from the ground to face his editor, his expression unusually soft as he exhaled deeply. “I was there when this all started, and I want to be there when it all ends. Don’t take this story from me.” 

13th, January 1952

“I’ll leave tomorrow.” The reporter had been discharged, now back in his editor’s office. 

“Are you sure you are healed enough to go?” 

Chuck studied his editor upon the question. “Wow, so you do have a heart,” He joked amused before straightening up again. “There is no time to waste. Our competition might get a story out before we do if I don’t move now. Besides, I don’t get paid to sit on my ass and I can’t afford to stay in hospital any longer... You know you should consider giving me a raise.” To that he got a nod and snort in response. “Just don’t get your ass handed to you again. I doubt the same story will sell twice. And I don’t think so, perhaps if this one goes big I’ll consider it.”

The reporter nodded, checking over his new camera. “Worth a shot. I mean I am one of your best reporters.” He grinned, which earned a scoff from his editor who just shook his head. “Don’t worry. Last time I was denied the interview. It frustrated me, so I infiltrated the sanatorium without a plan. It was a foolish heat of the moment decision. But this time I have a foolproof plan.” Once Chuck was sure his equipment was ready he turned on his heels to go, before swerving back around as he remembered something. “I am going undercover. Don’t worry if it takes me a few weeks. Just don’t send anyone up, or it might blow my cover,” Bernstein added before heading off in long, determined strides. This story better be worth it. Hell, it definitely had to make up for his earlier failure. Either way, Chuck felt like this would be one story he would remember above all others. 

14th January 1952

The cold was relentless, biting into Chuck’s skin like hungry pariahs. The reporter held onto his camera as he finally made it to the top of the cable car station. Trying to keep his teeth from chattering Chuck’s eyes focused on the poster of the Sanatorium and Hotel. They had hot springs... hot springs sounded so good right now. Just soak away the remainder of pain he still held in his chest and head, watching his troubles evaporate into steam. Only upon hearing footsteps did Chuck turn around, shoulder’s tensed. “Victor, I presume?” The man before him nodded, sneering a line about reporters and their shit. Chuck paid no mind to it however. He was already focusing on everything he could gather, not that there was much yet. This man was his ride into the sanatorium, what he said did not matter as long as he got Chuck in. Getting in through the hotel was honestly not a bad idea. It was just a bit weird that a Hotel would find itself attached to a Sanatorium, well at least via underground passage. Then again both did belong to Jefferson Bragg along the with the mines.

Victor had lead Chuck through the Blackwood Hotel, explaining the usual comings and goings before handing Chuck a doctor’s uniform. It was a snug fit, not bad at all.

“I hope you have better luck than the last one,” Victor looked to the now ‘Doctor’. Chuck swallowed hard, looking to the newspaper Victor held. “The last one?” 

Victor looked slightly confused, then amused at the expression of the reporter. “Yeah, you haven’t heard? Last guy that snooped around got beaten to a pulp. Then again, he didn’t pay for my services.” Victor replied while handing over the newspaper. Chuck looked back at his own story, mocking him. But at least his face wasn’t attached to it. That would have significantly complicated things. “Right, thank you.” He nodded, placing the article down with a low sneer. He then grabbed the bottle offered up by Victor. “Cheers to me being a hot-shot reporter who doesn’t need no medical school to be a doctor.” 

Once Victor had finally left Chuck could head to work. Victor had even organised a room for him in the hotel so he could sleep and write his article in peace. He looked over himself in one of the mirrors. Honestly, he thought he pulled it off well. The uniform had a certain flair to it, and Chuck thought he fit the role rather well. He was a healthy, good looking man after all. The only regret he had was having his camera taken away- again. Victor had convinced him to leave it in one of the lockers, lest he wanted to arouse suspicion. He would have to just write his observations and interviews down first, then sneak in some photographs before disappearing.

The floors were well labelled and hence easy to navigate. Even in his disguise Chuck hoped not to be spotted. Sneaking around he took mental note of the sanatorium. It was clean, well-staffed and seemed of professional standard. Despite its sheer size, finding the Administration and offices was easy. Chuck had no idea where exactly the 12 miners were being kept but hoped to find answers here. The administration room was currently unattended. It was a smaller room, pigeon holes framed into one of the walls, as well as some desks and drawers. Out of the corner of his eye, Chuck noticed some cards on one of the tables. Clocking in cards it seemed. The reporter grabbed the stash, frowning. It was definitely from the miners... but why were there 30 of them? 30 clocking in cards for the mine. Only 12 men had gone down into the mines, and they had all been successfully retrieved. Chuck looked on, eyeing the photo stacked beneath the cards. “Blasting crew...” He recognised a few of the faces as those of the rescued miners. But there were 30 men in this photograph as well. It was when Chuck noticed the date on the back; December 1951, that he grew more concerned. This was a photograph taken on the day the miners had gone down the shaft before the collapse. It took only a few more seconds before the light bulb finally lit up. 

“Holy mother-load!” Shit, Bernstein looked around, praying that no one had heard his outburst. He then focused on the clocking in cards and photograph again. “That lying son of a bitch,” He mumbled, scanning over the faces he now knew did not make it out. Chuck thought back to the 5th. The statement given by Bragg, as he proudly announced to the press; “The successful rescue of _all_ 12 miners trapped in the disaster of the 5th of January.” Well that was a huge freaking lie. 18 men. 18 men did not make it back out... It was a sombre thought. But why cover this up? Sure this was terrible, but... Chuck scanned around the administration office. Why not just admit there were 30 men, 18 of whom killed by the accident? Unless of course, it was no accident. Chuck pocketed the photograph, he would need it for his article. 

Taking a few more steps Chuck noticed a telegram. 

_‘Rely Immediately! Reporters and snoopers to be kept away at all costs!’_

Chuck sneered, he had obviously learned this the hard way. 

_‘12 survivors received at Sanatorium = showing signs of mental trauma may need to contain = local press now have scent of blood = becoming a problem = please advise further’_

What were they so desperately trying to hide? Determined Chuck rummaged through any drawers that weren’t locked. A few times someone would pass by and he would have to hide under a desk or behind the drawers. He didn’t have all day. Someone would be coming in here eventually, just hopefully later rather than sooner. Exasperated he went through an old stack of papers that looked like they might fall apart, but at least it was on the mines. Finally he found what he was looking for. The map of the Blackwood mines, red ink stamps contrasting the dirty yellow page. 

Danger: Food risk. Danger: Extreme rockfall danger. Danger: Collapsed supports... the list went on.

The review had only been made in late 1951. It was clear that the mine was in no state to have had workers in it. The safety hazards were beyond measure, it was a disaster just waiting to happen. Chuck grumbled to himself in annoyance and disgust. This was what they were trying to contain. The ink on the map may have as well been stamped with the blood of the doomed miners. Bragg’s whole company could shut down for this. Hell, Chuck would make sure it did, that much was owed to the miners. 

<><><>

Chuck had pocketed the mine danger map, now back in his hotel room. He needed a break, sipping from the bottle Victor had so generously left him. He had also found some administrative notes which he now looked over again. 

_‘Be advised that the miner rescue is due to be completed tomorrow (5th January). As the number of surviving miners is unknown, prepare all beds in Ward A._

_The press shall be in attendance tomorrow. We must be seen to be giving the miners the best possible care._

_Note that the press visitors are not to be allowed into the Psychiatric Ward._

_Failure in this regard will reflect badly upon Mr. Bragg and the Sanatorium as a whole, and shall result in an on-the-spot dismissal.’_

Chuck was satisfied with what he had gathered. It was plenty of dirt on Bragg. He now also knew where in the sanatorium the miners were being held. It must be the Psychiatric Ward in Ward A. Despite already having plenty to work with for his report, Chuck still wanted to visit the miners. He wanted to find out how they were doing, and how the treatment was going. They had been through hell, but at least Bragg seemed to care a lot more for his sanatorium than his mines. It was stupid really, running a mining company, a hotel and a sanatorium. Jefferson Bragg should have known he could not keep up with all three. Chuck took another gulp from his bottle, looking out of his hotel window. For once he stopped to really take it in. The sky was clear, mountain peaks glistening in the sunlight. It was so peaceful and serene. Chuck now understood the allure of this place. Who wouldn’t want to work and stay on this beautiful mountain? A brochure on the table caught his attention. It probably would not provide too much useful information, but he read over it anyway. A brief history of the Blackwood pines, accommodation...

_Accommodation_

_The Blackwood Pines Hotel and Sanatorium is dedicated to relaxation, with first-class facilities and programs designed to treat your mind and body. Our remote and luxurious mountain retreat offers you breath-taking panoramic views in the absolute seclusion, guaranteed to leave you with a new lease of life._

_The natural hot springs that feed our modern spa facilities are imbued with healing minerals that nourish, rejuvenate and revitalise your system. This precious gift from nature is the secret to wellness and is an absolute must when attending Blackwood Pines._

Well seems at least Bragg wasn’t lying about everything. Truly Chuck had indeed never seen such stunning views before. He could not help stealing more longing glances at the mountainside, longing to be able to enjoy his stay and just recover in the hot springs. Even walking the tracks would have been magnificent. So peaceful and abundant in beauty. Somehow he would sneak into those hot springs. He really had to try it at least once before leaving... 

Refocusing on his typewriter Chuck nodded. He would get a head-start on his article before going out to see the miners. After that he could head on back home. And this place... it would all be shut down, or sold to someone more responsible. A shame really... But Chuck was determined to make sure Bragg would lose everything, and that the miners and their families would be properly compensated. Spreading the truth was his job, and he did so with pleasure. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a bit dry, but hopefully, the next ones come across better. I still hope it wasn't too bad though xD


	3. Motivations

_Local Mythology_

_As a former Native American tribal area, Mount Madahee has its own share of local folklore and superstitions that range from vengeful spirits, to ancient curses which continue to haunt the mountain. There is no doubt that Mount Madahee has been treated as a deeply spiritual area by Native Americans, and interested guest can further their knowledge by going on a cultural day trip to the nearby reservation._ _As with many myths and legends, there is little evidence to substantiate the wild claims that have been made Mount Madahee’s previous tenants. Guests at the Blackwood Pines Hotel can be sure of a peaceful retreat in idyllic surroundings._

_\- Blackwood Pines Holiday Brochure_

At first thought Chuck had considered the miners well off to be in such a good facility. So why then were the hairs on his back raised? Why was he filled with dread as a cold shudder ran down his back? He had always considered himself a good judge of character and environment. It was a skill well needed if you wanted to survive investigative journalism. The atmosphere had changed somehow, but Chuck could not place it. What he saw looked promising- a beautiful, well-kept sanatorium. It did not at all match the weary dread screaming at him from within. So why was he feeling like this? Identical doors marked the long passage of the psychiatric ward, their rhythm becoming increasingly unsettling.

The reporter dared to stop at a door, the name catching his attention. As far as he knew William ‘Billy’ Bates had been one of the 12 miners. Startled Chuck flung his head back at the man whom had sprung forth, clutching the bars before him in horrid desperation.

Billy looked unsure but almost glad to see a new face. It must be a new doctor, he thought. Perhaps this one would have compassion on him! Voice desperate and pleading he begged, “You gotta help me. We were down there for weeks, starving. Now he’s put us in these cages! You gotta help me doc!” Tears started framing the ill-looking miners face. He just wanted to go home, why can’t he go home?

Chuck studied him with shook. Quickly he pulled out his notepad, jotting down everything Billy had said. But more unsettling, actually very unsettling was his appearance. The miner’s eyes seemed almost clouded or hazed over, dark shadows clawing around his eyes. His face was extremely pale, and even now he could hear a low rumble. Chuck still looked at Billy puzzled, with the miner seemingly getting unsettled and frustrated by the lack of words or actions he was receiving. The miner's hand rubbed at his groaning stomach, his expression changing from hopeful to agitated.

“Say something! Lemme out! You can’t do this to me! You can’t starve me to death!” He screamed, slamming himself against the door. Chuck would have asked him to quiet down, explain that he was here to help. He had so many more questions, but the footsteps echoing down the hall let him know that orderlies and nurses were on the way to quiet their patient. “I’m sorry,” He whispered quickly before backing off.

As softly as Chuck could master he backed away into another room. Chuck looked to his notes, now taking in a sharp breath the journalist did not know he was holding. This made little sense. What was going on here? Bates did not look like he was getting better, the opposite actually. Chuck remembered the men looking relatively healthy when they were rescued, unlike now.

Once the shouting and screaming had ceased Chuck headed back out into the hallway. He needed to explain himself to Bates, and tell him that he was here to help them and share their story. But once at the cell, Chuck realised that it was now void. Knowing they must have taken Billy somewhere else he moved on, hiding in rooms or around corners if he heard anyone approach. That continued as Chuck made his way past the morgue, ears pricking up as he recognised the Miner's voice. It was risky, but Chuck snuck into the nearby observation room. There he had a clear view of Bates strapped down. He appeared more docile now, but even more desperate as he pleaded for food. It was the response of what Chuck recognised to be the Head-doctor, and owner of the sanatorium and mines that piqued his interest. Jefferson Bragg stood before the miner, demeaning as he explained that this was for Billy’s own good. Bates bit back on his lips hard, face pained. “Please, please I gotta eat.” The pain of hunger looked like it was consuming the miner alive. 

Another doctor suggested they give him something to chew on, but Bragg right out refused. “Nonsense Dr Bowen. If we did that it would undermine the varsity of our tests.”

“Tests...?” Chuck mumbled to himself as he dotted down the conversation and a description on his notepad, encircling the words ‘Miners being deprived of food. Possible test on the effects of starvation?’ He decided it best not to stick around, sneaking out back through the morgue. 

Finally out of sight Chuck sat down on the floor, even more confused than he had been this morning. He knew about the cover-up of the mines... but what the hell was this? It seemed, no, it must be that the miners are being mistreated and experimented on. “How he hell even?!” Chuck tried to not be too loud, but the pent-up frustration needed escape. So it wasn’t bad enough that Bragg let the miners work in dangerous conditions, resulting in death? No. He still had to treat them like lesser humans for experiments. What else could possibly explain the situation? Shit, this was supposed to be a sanatorium, not a research lab. It was slowly starting to become clear that anything to do with the name Bragg was shady and hell, he needed to be stopped now. But maybe, just maybe Chuck had gotten it wrong. Sure, it would be a great story but he still hoped to find some logical explanation for what was happening here. Perhaps it was too early to conclude with certainty that this was human experimentation. Chuck knew he would need to find more to be certain.

* * *

A muzzle? What was next? The journalist looked down to the strapped miner, dumb-folded. Chuck had continued roaming the hallways, now stumbling upon... whatever this was. The miner before him was tied down to the bed with leather bands, allowing only a little wiggle room. He looked to the report beside the bed, a warning cautioning that the patient had been biting nurses and doctors. This needed to be photographed. He had to photograph this. Dammit, this is why he never left anywhere without his camera. What a stupid foolish decision to let Victor talk him out of keeping it on him.

Chuck slowly sat down beside the miner, trying not to aggravate his struggling. “Hey... I know what happened... how there were 30 of you. I know Bragg isn’t treating you guys right. And I want to help you.” He whispered softly. “Why did you bite them? I know they are mistreating you, was it in self-defence?” Chuck probed softly, only to nearly fall off his chair at a shrill high-pitched screech. Unkempt nails dug so deep into the mattress that it cut open, foam curls shearing off. Chuck’s heart had frozen in place, amber iris locked onto the eyes before him. Milky, bloodshot eyes drew him in, seemingly whispering to him ‘You are mine...’ Another shrill shriek echoed out, now accompanied by the angry growling of starvation, a stomach desperate for any scrap of food. The way those eyes fixated on him, following his movements... If Chuck had not known better he would have thought this man saw him as a nice Sunday roast of mutton. This wasn’t possible, this needed to be captured in a photograph. The malnourishment, disease, starvation, exhaustion and mental instability... as well as the inhumane treatment... it just was not right. This facility was treating the miners like lesser humans, like animals. No one deserved that. “I’m sorry. Sorry that this is being done to you. I will get you out of here... just be patient a little longer,” Chuck whispered back, hoping it would calm the man before him. Something was going down here. But Chuck needed proof. 

Hastily Chuck got up to go get his Camera. To hell with what Victor had said. The fastest way would be through the chapel towards the hotel. It would still be where Victor left it. Pace fast he reached the chapel, only to rush up a flight of stairs as he heard the heavy oak doors open. It was old Bragg again, and a priest judging by the clothes. Chuck observed them from atop the gallery, not sure what they were talking about. He was trapped up here for now, so he might as well listen.

The Priest seemed exasperated, as if talking to a brick wall. “There is something on this mountain! Something bigger than two of us! It cannot be ignored any longer. Perhaps the natives were right.” Bragg was quick to dismiss the other, waving it off. “Nonsense Ted. Foolish nonsense. Evil Spirits, curses... it’s all just legend. Nothing more! What you are suggesting is ludicrous!”

The topic was evil spirits apparently. Evil Spirits were none of Chuck’s concern. He was here to report facts, not some fiction the father seemed to believe in. Once it was safe to move on, Chuck snuck on. But the underground path leading back to the hotel now seemed to be looked. “Agh scum!” Frustrated Chuck yanked and pushed at the door, to no avail. He would need to take the long way. ‘Well, just my luck I guess’. Chuck thought to himself as he retraced his steps back to the sanatorium, agitated. Screw this place, and particularly screw Bragg. He just wanted to get out of here already, and expose this dammed mess. Chuck’s head was killing him, so was his chest. Both of them were Bragg’s fault too.

It was while heading past Billy’s cell again that the reporter stopped, quietly glancing inside. Seems they had returned him after calming down. Inside there was a faint whisper, equal to a faint cry. Billy was talking to himself. Begging to be released, reunited with his family. “Please god, please... Let me go. Just let me go home... I- I just want to see my family again.”

The soft sobbing created a knot in Chuck’s stomach. It had sounded like the words of a man knowing he was doomed. This wasn’t supposed to happen. No human being deserved to be treated like this. Chuck needed to hurry, get his photographs and steal a few more documents before he could get out of here and expose the sinister experiments and mistreatment conducted on the miners. 18 miners were already dead, but hell, he could still save 12 of them. Life’s were at stake. If he wanted to save them he had to do it with haste. Ideally Chuck’s report could have this place shut down or under review by the end of the week. Only then Chuck stopped for a second, realisation hitting him. Was he really doing this for the miners? Surely he was, right? Well at least in part he was... If he managed to do this he might be hailed a hero, no longer remembered as a wuss that got his ass handed to him... His reputation and pride would be restored. Maybe people might actually start approving of him? See him as more than just a dirty German. This story was big, it was massive actually. Chuck had never written something so big before. The article on his assault would be forgotten, instead all focus would be on Bragg and the miners. And it sure would come with a nice bonus from his editor. Well really, was there a problem with that? Saving lives and saving himself? With that a small smile curved Bernstein’s face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this was all over the place, but at least the technicalities are done now. XD


	4. Rat in a mouse trap

There was a lump in Chuck’s throat. Or perhaps it was his heart, having drummed its way up. He dared not to breathe, backed away into a corner. The calendar mocked his failure. 14th of January. It had hardly been a day... and yet here he was hiding. Hiding in a cleaner’s closet, peeking out of the shuttered door. All because he had become too distracted by a report. A report on the miner’s health, how they had been much healthier than anticipated. Also something about lack of scurvy... tsk, what even was the point in trying recall? Chuck had been caught. How foolish could one be? Being caught twice by the same company not even a week apart! Chuck realised he should never have come back, dammed be his pride and stubbornness. How could a grown-ass man be so stupid and naive? 

Chuck could only imagine the beating he would receive this time... sweat dripped down what was now pale skin. They wouldn’t beat him... not after everything he has seen. No, no- they might kill him this time. Make sure no one found him, or say an inpatient did it. Maybe he could shed the doctor’s uniform... pretend he was just a lost tourist who wandered from the hotel. Bernstein’s father had taught him some German as a kid. Maybe he could recall some things... though he never really bothered too hard to learn his father’s tongue. Not with how useless and degrading being a German was. He had no other plan. No one would come looking for him, and no one would save the miners... This wasn’t a sanatorium, this was a research lab. And the inpatients were the lab rats. 

“Over here! Found him!”

Shit.

The flashlight shone brightly in Chuck’s face, blinding his squinted eyes. Adrenaline rushing through his veins the journalist bolted. The small closet had no escape, except forward. Chuck roughly shoved the orderly out of his way, feet drumming against the hard floors. His steps synced to the rhythm of the alarm system, droning in his ears. The triggered alarm shadowed everything in a sea of red flashes, heartbeat dancing to the casting reflections. If he could make it to the stairwell and down the first floor, then he could run out. He could hide in the forest or the mines! Anywhere but here! Terrified, but determined to get out he leapt over wheelchairs and equipment. The blonde jumped down nearly half a flight of stairs while hearing the thunder of footsteps behind him. A chorus singing his doom. He had nearly made it down the stairs ready to round the corner before crashing hard into another person.

The impact knocked the air right out of Chuck. Distantly he recognised a scream of intense pain, which he did not register to be his own. His chest! Heavens! His goddamned chest hurt like a son of a bitch. The previous injury had not fully healed yet and the impact only served to remind Chuck that this was his second screw up. The pain was only overshadowed by the buzzing in Chuck’s head. It was all-consuming, and all he could hear or see. 

Grunting Chuck tried to push himself up from the person, the doctor underneath him, whom too groaned in annoyance. “Arg! Look what you did! I just had these ironed!” Gordon’s voice grumbled before focusing on the face above him. Chuck tried to push himself up weakly, only to feel hands lift him by his arms. “Ugh... Please, let me go. This is all just a mistake.” Talking and standing seemed to take so much effort. The mental exhaustion was throbbing at the front of his head, pounding against his skull. The alarm went silent, red flashes ceasing as the movement and excitement calmed. 

“I fear we can’t do that. Trying to beat feet did not get you very far.” Chuck refocused his vision to see Bragg stand before him. “You are a persistent one, aren’t you Mr. Bernstein.” All the old head-doctor got in response was a weak, but spiteful spit at his shoes. Chuck grimaced, brows furrowed even after spitting. One of the orderlies took the notepad from Chuck, handing it to Bragg. 

“Is anyone going to tell me what the hell is going on here? Who tripped the alarm? And who is the new guy?” Gordon asked pointing to Chuck with one hand while the other brushed the dirt off of his coat. He had seen this man somewhere before... hadn’t he? 

Bragg replied without turning to face other, still reading over the notes. “Bennet, this is Chuck Bernstein. The news reporter from the Alberta Bugle. The one that kindly visited us a few days ago.” 

That was it. That’s where Gordon recognised him from. The day the miners were rescued, his birthday. 

Chuck sized up the orderly and nurse that were holding him down, as well as the head-doctor. He had no choice, he would try to take them on.

“Goodness sakes, what’s all this ruckus about? The miners are going crazy at the noise and movement” Another doctor appeared, clipboard still in hand. Gordon Bennet looked to the other, giving a small shrug. “I think we got this under control Bowen. Go back to the miners. It’s just a reporter.”

“Chuck Bernstein. Isn’t that German? How can we be sure he is just a journalist?” One orderly questioned, scrutinising the other male with narrowed eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Bragg snorted. “If you are implying that he is a n-“ 

“I am a Canadian you Milksop! I was born and raised here!” Chuck hissed at them, more agitated than he should have been. “And from what I gather you are the ones starving and experimenting on people!” 

“Shit, he even has some of the accent. He’s just a dirty German!” The sanatorium staff was now filled with whispers and glances of disgust.

Gordon’s eyes lowered. A German, eh? Shit... of course he was a German. He had really been checking out a disgusting German.

The journalist desperately tried to shake himself back and forth, cursing and screaming. His heritage wasn’t exactly on his side here. Chuck was beyond panicked, whole body trembling. Hell, they might kill him just for being part-German. Just another victim to hate crimes. “Shit I swear I’m Canadian, I was born here I swear! ...My editor knows I’m here. He will come looking for me. So get bent!” At the very least that might save Chuck from being killed right away. 

“That’s quite enough, time to go sleep now” Eyes shooting up the last thing Chuck saw was the head-doctor sticking a syringe in his arm. Vision fading, he slumped to the floor, only hearing a faint echo of; “We can’t let this get out. Our work needs to be kept quiet.” After that, the loud buzzing of Chuck’s head slowly grew into a silence of nothingness. 

15 January 1952

Chuck’s eyes slowly fluttered open, sun bright on his eyelids. The first thing he felt was the throbbing pain, but that quickly took a back seat as Chuck forced himself to sit up, looking down over himself.

Patient... Wait, patient? Chuck had awoken, not in his hotel room, but behind a heavy metal door, stuck in a cell. Patient. The words read out clearly on the clothes he now wore. The cell had only a small peeking window in the heavy door, as well as a large bared window granting a view of the mountainside. Two single beds lay across each other in the room, only equipped with two night drawers, two desk tables and a sink in the corner. Actually... it wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t crammed... but it was a cell none the less. Chuck looked over the room, then over himself again. Gone was the doctor’s suite, and in were the ‘pyjamas’. Chuck had leapt to his feet, hands wrapping around the cold metal as he peered out. What was this? What were they planning on doing to him?

“Hello? ...Hello!” He slammed a hand against the door, instantly regretting it as he grabbed his wrist in a hiss. He could not believe this. Again. They caught him again. Chuck should not have intervened with fate, he should have just stayed in that damn hospital and taken his time to recover. He was frustrated at himself, frustrated for being so naive. Really, why now? This has never happened before the whole Miner’s case. Chuck had considered himself to be a pretty good journalist in the past. Obviously everything must be going to hell now because he had put himself above the story. He had been reckless in an effort to recover his ego and reputation. His mind had been too occupied with thoughts of himself and his injustice, rather than focusing on sharing the truth and injustice of others. Shame now flooded Chuck as he sunk to the floor, leaning against the door. Investigative journalism was his passion because he got to spread the truth, and expose evil. Taking down bad corporations and gangs, and potentially save lives. That’s what he had done in the past, feeling a great sense of reward at seeing justice done. He got a chance to make this world a slightly less shitty place. Hell knew he needed to atone for the sins of heritage. The blood pumping through his veins sometimes disgusted Chuck, he had to help make it right. This was his way of trying to be better, to prove that he wasn’t like the others, despite never even having set foot on German ground. But the two wars were still fresh on everyone’s mind. Chuck had of course not been allowed to join the army like all other men his age, but he was fighting his own war. A single soldier fighting not to end up the victim of a hate crime among the very people he considered his countrymen. But none of that mattered now.

Here he was, trapped by his own foolish pride and ego. He should have focused on the miners and ill-treatment, not his reputation. “Hell, this is what I get, it’s my own fault.” Chuck sighed, shutting his eyes to drown out the pain creeping into his head and chest. His editor would fire him, kick him back to the streets. If he even got back out... was he going to get out of here? A renewed bolt of fear rushed through Chuck. They would let him go, right? No... of course they wouldn’t. He would end up like the miners. Starved and experimented on. Slumping to the ground the reporter swallowed hard. But the knot in his throat was still there. Repeated swallowing did not ease it, the opposite actually. “Well... shit,” He mumbled to himself. 

The air was tense, silence lay over the room like a blanket. It was suffocating. Bragg’s best and most trusted doctors sat around the small table, none daring to speak up. Though no one said anything they all seemed to be aware of each other’s thoughts. There was a strong possibility that there was a whistle-blower amongst the staff. Really it could be anyone, a doctor, a nurse, an orderly...

Finally, Gordon cleared his throat, speaking up. “What are you planning on doing with that reporter? Making him disappear would land us in hot waters,” Gordon noted as he looked over the Bragg, trying to judge his expression. The head-doctor let out an exasperated sigh, nodding slowly. “I know. He has seen too much, but we can’t off him... This is however a great opportunity for me to set into practice my studies on induced amnesia.” He said giving a small, but satisfied smile. 

“Another one of your experiments then?” Anna grumbled. “Don’t you think we got our hands full enough?”

“I did not ask for this.” Bragg reminded. “I did not plan any of this. The cave-in, the reporter... These are just opportunities that knocked on our door. It’ll be a shame to turn them away.” 

Dr Bowen grimaced. “Patient 8 from the mine has chewed off and eaten his own bottom lip today. I also noticed some pointier than usual incisors in 4 of the miners. Their behaviour is getting increasingly more erratic and unpredictable. Patient 9 managed to pick up and throw an orderly 4 meters across the room into the walls. I think we should increase from 1 to 3 orderlies per miner, and 24-hour supervision.”

Dr Castle nodded along to that, adding; “They are getting paler, skin seems to be deteriorating from the lack of vitamin D during the mines. At the same time the skin is also growing tougher with the dermis hardening. I highly suggest you stop the starvation experiments so that these men do not deteriorate any worse. It also seems they are suffering from extreme PTSD. They cannot sleep at night, awakening from nightmares while screaming and covered in sweat.”

Bragg nodded. “Granted Dr Bowen, but Dr Castle, I will decide how and when my experiments are being done. We might just be on the verge of a scientific breakthrough. You understand we can stop now, don’t you? Considering how hungry they claim to be they are getting increasingly stronger and more violent. Continue focusing on the miners. And we will need to figure out who the whistle-blower is. The journalist might have answers.” He then turned to Gordon. “Gordon, take a break from the miners and inpatients. I need your help with the journalist. We will begin working on inducing amnesia shorty.” 

The heavy cell door closed behind the footsteps as Chuck took a few steps back. “Hey there. How’re you feeling today?” The same orderly that had found Chuck in the cleaner’s closet checked him over. Snorting the Journalist walked right up to the Orderly’s face in an empty threat. “I’m feeling fantastic! Even got the presidential suite with a view! So what times my spa treatment?” There was silence and a grimace shaped both participants faces.

“Are all Reporters this derisive?” The orderly mumbled shaking his head and taking a step back. “Get in the wheelchair. If you don’t I’ll have to get a doctor in to knock you out.”

Chuck checked out the wheelchair, lips tightening. “What’s this for? You know I actually have two very well-functioning legs? I could run a triathlon if I wanted to, and I am not a patient. So make like a tree and leave.” He retorted, grabbing onto his patient uniform and tearing it off. “This is not a prison, you can’t keep me here.”

The orderly; Abe sighed. “Well you were also no doctor, but you did not seem to mind slipping into the uniform. And don’t worry, you’ll be a fully-fledged patient in no time. We will make sure of that, so might as well enjoy the presidential suite.”

Chuck had never considered himself particularly aggressive or violent. He was definitely built well enough to stand his ground but lacked coordination. Fist fighting wasn’t something he enjoyed anyhow, but given the situation, he thought it fair to enforce the boundaries. This guy was seriously cruising for a bruising. “Fribble you’re asking for it. Fine then, you wanna go?! Let’s go!”

After some struggling, Abe, now adorned in bruises, indeed had to get doctor’s assistance in forcing Chuck into the wheelchair. He was now restraint, arms burning from trying to pry them free. Instead, all he achieved were red marks, bloody knuckles and an itch. The room he had been moved to was dark. The darkness seemed to fill the room with a heavy dread, an impending sense of doom. “Alright Chuck, before we start, who is the whistle-blower?” The journalist heard Bragg’s voice before he even spotted the doctor, eyes still adjusting to the dark abyss of a room. The tall, elder man stepped forward, voice quiet but firm.

“Whistle-blower, geez if that’s all you need you just could have asked,” Chuck smirked. “I’m rather good at whistling, even better if I got to use my hands.” Slowly a chorus of whistles echoed off the rooms before Chuck started singing, never breaking his spiteful eye contact with the doctor. While his whistling was okay, Chuck was by no means talented in song, but that did not matter. The very limited German Chuck knew, included a lullaby his father used to sing to him as a boy. They already judged and hated him, but they would not kill him. If they had wanted to do that they would have already. He wasn’t here to make friends, if anything he would hate right back, taunt them.

“Bruder Jakop, Bruder Jakop. Schläfst du noch? Schläfst du noch? Hörst du nicht die Glocke? Hörst du nicht die Glocke? Ding, dang, dong! Ding, dang dong!” Voice coarse and laced with fury, the song took on a rather dark tone, at least until the journalist yelped at the electric surge shooting through his body. He grimaced, now noting a second shadow figure hidden in the darkness. Even though it was completely dark, Chuck could still make out the clothes of another doctor, face turned towards them. That asshole zapped him, rude. 

“Okay, enough on that then. Let’s move forth with you.” Bragg’s voice echoed out, seemingly taking the answer to mean there had not been a whistle-blower after all. Chuck continued trying to resist as time started to blur, unable to do anything about the cocktail of injections entering his body.

Soon Chuck had no idea how long he had been there, tongue fluent and forthcoming on drugs. He answered Bragg’s questions concerning his job, his past and the things he had seen in the sanatorium, but only to get more injections and shocks. Electric shocks shooting through his body whether he answered or not. Chuck heaved frustrated, a strong pressure thumping against his skull. He was faintly aware of how his speech was increasingly becoming slurred as the room seemed to start flowing and blurring like a stream.

* * *

A cold shiver shot up Chuck’s back as he sat up straight in his bed the next day. Observing his sweaty hands, he then looked to the bed and back to his cell. The Journalist could not remember coming back here. He could not recall his session ending. Actually... he could not even recall much from the session itself. The blank’s in memory were concerning, to say the least. His concern was only interrupted at the sound of a low growl. Tensing up Chuck looked down towards the source of the sound, only to realise it was his own stomach twisting in a whimper. That’s right. He hadn’t eaten since he got here. Getting up Chuck looked to the calendar. That was a whole day ago. He remembered the miners now, begging for food. Mouth dry Chuck hoped he would not suffer the same misfortune.

“Hello? Anyone alive out there?” Chuck called out through the bars, spotting a nurse. The same one that had blown his cover in the first place, he realised bitterly. She had been the one that caught him reading the notes and alerted the others. “You okay there?” She smiled, as if she weren’t responsible for landing him in here. Chuck could have shouted at her, blamed her for all this. He really wanted to, he wanted so badly to yell what a minikin she was... but thought better of it. Hence after the mental debate and weighing up his options he nodded, more so to himself. Sure, he could play nice, it was probably the best plan of action in this situation. “Um... w-what’s your name?” 

The nurse looked slightly surprised but pleased. “I’m Victoria. I’m glad you are talking a bit more civilised today.” Chuck looked her over. His face must have revealed his displeasure at the response because Victoria had stopped smiling. Quickly he then added. “Oh yeah... Nice name. I mean I guess you were just doing your job or whatever when you ratted me out... but listen, I haven’t eaten in a while. Will there be any lunch served?” He expected a reply from the nurse, but rather saw the orderly enter his field of vision. “Well, that depends on whether you are willing to work for it or not,” Abe chuckled. “If you don’t put up a fight before or during your sessions you’ll be rewarded with a meal.” The orderly explained. Chuck looked from the orderly to the nurse, who just nodded at what her colleague had said. “Really?” The reporter sighed long and deep. “Who are you anyway?” He then asked looking to the Orderly. “You can call me Abe. I’ll be your orderly from now on and Victoria will be your nurse. Also geez, check out these bruises you left on me, quite the fighter eh? I guess violence is in your blood.”

Great, it had to be those two who would be his caretakers. Why the two that had landed him in here? Chuck snorted as he looked at the bruises. He had never been a good fighter in the first place, so getting the upper hand for once was something. “Jerk.” He mumbled softly under his breath before stepping back from the bars, scratching at the back of his head. What even were the sessions for? Maybe he could just skip eating a few days instead. Immediately his stomach protested loudly at that though. True, he couldn’t do that forever. 

“Assuming I trust you fribbles... These sessions... what are they for?” The now patient glanced back towards the figures outside his cell unsure. 

“Insults and punches aren’t going to get you anywhere fast. And those sessions are just to learn more information about you and your publishing house. As well as to sort out an agreement on not publishing your findings. Just a normal conversation. That’s all, nothing to it,” Abe tried to reassure. “Once you guys settle on an agreement you can go home, but first you need to be willing to talk,” Victoria added softly and encouraging. 

Chuck’s eyes narrowed, head tilted to the side in some confusion. “Just a talk? ...Well, I don’t think that will work. I need to publish what I saw here. That’s my job after all.”

“Hence a few sessions of talking. I’m sure we can come to an agreement somehow.” Abe responded. 

He would talk, get food and then go home after a while? It sounded a bit too good. But what else could they do? They could not kill him, after all his editor did know his location. “Alright, fine. I’ll do the dammed sessions. Not like I have a choice anyway.” Chuck nodded, a hand soothing his stomach. He should have known better. But even if he had, there would have been nothing he could have done. 

It was only a few hours later that Chuck was back in his cell, standing over a sandwich. It was by no means delicious, but it was food. The Investigative Journalist could not really recall his session. Though he was sure he was being drugged and electrocuted again. Or maybe he imagined it, but it did not matter right now. After all, he finally got some food. Chuck did not even remember why he willingly went for the session in the first place. This day had been a bit of a blur… One sandwich was hardly filling enough. But he figured if he went for another session tomorrow he would probably get another sandwich. 

* * *

Gordon shut down the electric system, packing away some of the syringes. He did not look to Bragg as the head-doctor wrote down his notes, speaking aloud. “So far so good. I think we are making some progress.” Gordon walked over after finishing packing up, looking over the notes. “Still a long way to go in my opinion,” He noted.

“Patience Gordon. It will probably take a week or two to erase his memory, but we have already made progress with his short-term memory. Soon Mr Bernstein won’t even be able to remember his own name. So, have you learned anything about our dear journalist yet Bennet?”

Gordon nodded, grabbing a report of out his drawer. “Yes. But do you really think we should continue? This whole shift as of lately to experimentations... It’s not really what we do Bragg. We are doctors, meant to help people, not scientists. I came here to help people, not torture them.” 

Bragg placed a hand on Gordon, noting the others grimace at the touch. “What we want and what we must do are two different things Gordon. Now about your charge?”

The brunette pulled away from the other, nodding. “Fine. But you owe me for the bribes I had to pay to gain this information. I spent ages going through archives mind you. Bernstein’s immigration records indicate that his father; Bruno migrated to Canada in 1914, possibly to avoid being conscripted into the war Germany was facing. Bruno married a Canadian and they knocked out Chuck the year the war ended in 1918. The same year that Anna was born,” He noted, realising Chuck was only 2 years younger than himself. Flipping to another page Gordon continued. “Bernstein’s mother passed away while birthing her second son. Neither survived, leaving 4-year-old Chuck to be raised by his father. He was 11 when the great depression hit, taking on a life of petty crimes. Theft offences, mostly of food seemed to compromise his teenage years.” 

Bragg listened on without interruption, nodding. Gordon meanwhile read on, skipping anything unimportant. “Seems he might have left home young, spending his time homeless, as was the norm for some during the great depression. He joined a publishing house at 17 and has worked there since, earning a few more charges of trespassing, break and enter, and common assault. He has no military record, actually it seems he completely fell off the map during the second war. A few hospital admissions for beatings and broken ribs.” Gordon figured people would have beat on Bernstein if they knew what he was.

“I could not find any family records on him. It seems he hasn’t settled down, probably too busy pursuing his career.”

Bragg nodded, looking to Gordon with amusement. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

Gordon snorted, laying the clipboard back down. It wasn’t his career holding him back. No, it was more complicated than that. “That’s all I found. That is Chuck Bernstein for you.”

“Very well. Him not having a family does make our job a lot easier. There is nothing in our way anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few notes  
> \- Sorry that this chapter was so long, maybe I should have broken it up.  
> \- There are a few words in here, such as Fribble and Minikin which apparently were popular insults in the 1950s. Phrases such as 'Make like a tree and leave' were apparently popular too. Go figure.  
> \- The lullaby Chuck is singing is 'Are you sleeping?' (Yes I wanted it to be a nod to Until Dawn) xD  
> \- Bernstein is a German name, with the first Bernstein's having migrated to Canada just before the first world war. I built up his character based on that. I also tried to reflect the animosity towards Germans at the time.


	5. Amnesia

29th January 1952

The snow was calm today, Chuck had a full view of the mountain peaks in the distance. He noted how imposing, yet breath-taking they were. Still, they also made him feel... lonely? Isolated? The Inpatient stared back at his palms, eyes blank and devoid of understanding. Wasn’t he supposed to be doing something right now? What was he even doing here again?

Who even was he? Surely it would be a lot easier to answer that question if one still retained their memory.

“C.B” Again a soft repeat. “C.B.” That was his name, at least the patient thought it started with those letters. “It’s 1952...” He remembered, looking to the calendar. Boredom was almost worse than not knowing, not remembering. There was a chessboard, but no one to play with. And there was a pen... a pen? That was new... The pen now swirled between Bernstein’s fingers, eyes focusing on the object with increasing boredom. One of the orderlies must have forgotten it. This was a utensil used for writing, that Chuck knew. Paper. He needed paper. The inpatient got up, pacing the room before stopping before a heavy, old book perched on the shelve. “Holy Bible.” The blonde read aloud, flipping open a page. They were filled to the brink with writing, except for the edges. Swiftly the pen swirled across the border, mind racing. It felt right, even natural. For the first time in... days? Weeks? He did not know, but there was happiness and excitement, as if this were his purpose. A very reason for existing.

The shouts and a loud thud were what interrupted the Inpatient’s thoughts, quickly shuffling to the door, gaze curious. There was some sort of commotion right outside his door in the hallway.

“You should know better than trying to flee Bates.” A male voice dominated the corridor, two unfamiliar orderlies had grabbed the miner and slammed him against Bernstein’s cell door. The sight had Bernstein take a terrified step backward. The man before him did not look human. More so he looked like death, a grim reaper knocking on his door.

“H-Hey! Get off of me! You?! Why are you doing this to me?” The first sentence was directed at the men pinning Billy Bates against the door, the second one however... They were face to face now, the patient swallowing hard. This man looked familiar, but from where, from when? Chuck didn’t even get the chance to ask as he watched the struggling stranger being dragged off. Blinking his eyes quickly focused again, following the quickly disappearing men. “W-Wait. Wait! You know me, right?! Hey! Who am I?!” But the stranger was gone, and with him disappeared any answers Chuck could have hoped for. The tears started trickling without Chuck’s awareness, slowing sinking to the floor deflated. “Dammit! Why?!” A fist slammed hard against the ground, only for a hiss of pain to erupt from the patient’s mouth. “Why man... what is happening.”

Darkness faded into his periphery again, growing stronger. 

Bates was being forcibly dragged off, struggling and hissing. Hissing. He shrieked. Billy knew that nothing but death awaited him here. He had felt it, the cold taking over his body. The way his vision turned into a sea of red, struggling to make out what was real and what was not. His nails were protruding sharply, his teeth growing longer. And his hunger... it grew ever more desperate.

Time must have passed, how much of it though? There was also another session, right? Night had not come yet, that was for sure. It was still the same day, yet the sky was darkening. A storm was coming, the wind already howling like hungry wolves.

It was cold. So cold and void. The former journalist had his arms wrapped around himself for warmth, longing for human touch. The man holding all his answers was gone. He wasn’t coming back, beyond his reach like a ghost. Judging by what the orderlies had said it was another inpatient. 

His knuckles still hurt despite the hours that had passed. The book he had found now mocked him, hand to sore to even write. His head and chest were throbbing again. A seeming constant to his situation. Not that it mattered since he already had another distraction before him.

His new distraction took the form of a woman, no, a nurse... and she was crying. He did not know why. She kept on mumbling to herself. “He said no... I am a fool.” The inpatient just looked right past her, disinterested. The blonde wished it were the man from earlier standing there instead, no matter how scary he had looked. He did not know what was going on. Why was this nurse here? Why was he here? Had he always been here? Then why could he not remember yesterday or the day before? There was not much he could remember at all... aside from this being a Sanatorium, the year being 1952, and him being an inpatient. There was another thing ingrained into Chuck by this point though. Conditioned like Pavlov’s dog’s he salivated. It was not a conscious association, but somehow this woman meant food. That much he knew. “Listen, I don’t know who you are, or why you are crying in my room... and I am sure that you are not a fool, but I’m hungry. Want to share a sandwich?”

7th February 1952

Days were passing, so slow, so eternally slow, yet the days on the calendar flew by. February had rushed in, claiming January’s spot. Again everything was just a blur of darkness. Blackouts, or something the like. The patient did not know if it was still the same day, the next day or days later. The blackouts had become a norm, so had the nightmares and sleepless night. It felt almost impossible to stay awake during the day, but it beat being doused into the nightmares at night. 

“Bragg will be here soon.” A voice echoed out. Slowly Chuck’s eyes fluttered open. Where was he? He must have blacked out during the ride to his session. He actually didn’t even remember getting into the wheelchair. The Patient lifted his sleepy head. He was still so tired. Just always so very tired. Yet his dreams left him no time to rest. There was a doctor ahead of him, lurking in the shadows.

Gordon stayed under cover of darkness, as he always did. Chuck could not make out much more than his silhouette. The doctor however got a good look at the reporter, situated under the observation lights. He didn’t look that different yet, except for his dirty blonde hair now looking darker in its greasy state. More so the patients once furious amber eyes lost their spark, looking dark and exhausted. ‘He needs to be bathed. I’ll have Abe wash him,’ Gordon mentally noted as Bragg walked in. 

The Inpatient was confused by the face before him, probing memories out of him. It was an elder man, face wrinkled, and wearing glasses. “Who are you? Why am I restrained?” The Inpatient asked unnerved, unknowing that is was the only questions he ever asked anymore. He still recognised the clothes though, assuming this to be a doctor. “Are you a doctor?” 

Bragg explained himself again, as he had the last couple of days before refocusing the subject. “I’m here to help you, alright? Now we need to try something new. Think of the last thing you can remember.” The patient was not sure what to think, what to say. He shut his eyes and let the walls fall away. 

_“Over here! Got him!” A man with no face stood before him, torchlight blinding him. The patient’s heart rate picked up, fear coursed through him. A calendar on the wall pointed back to January 14. Doctors clothes adorned him._

Chuck gasped as his eyes shot open again after feeling a bolt of electricity rush through his veins. He had been zapped right out of the memory, eyes wide in fear. It hurt. The patient could see two shadows hidden further back, whispering to each other. “Additional sessions may be inevitable.” It was the voice of the man with glasses from before, now stepping out of the shadows towards the restrained patient. “So, did you remember anything?” 

The inpatient still focused on the other doctor in the back, the one shrouded in complete darkness. He then looked back to the head doctor. “Um... yes.” Bragg nodded at the response, gesturing for a continuation. Unsure the patient continued. “There- There was a man with no face, and I also saw a calendar.” Of course there was also the doctors uniform, but for now the patient thought it best to keep that to himself.

Bragg nodded understanding, “Let’s try again then.” 

It was the same memory, shorter this time and again ended by electric shocks. The blonde growled quietly. Why were they zapping him? “Stop it this is barbaric!” The shadow in the back seemed to straighten up at the outburst. It seemed the shadow’s head was turned towards the old man, perhaps seeking out instructions. “I can’t anymore. Please stop.” The plea was directed directly at Gordon this time. Gordon studied the Journalist before looking back to Bragg. Perhaps it was enough... he too was getting tired of this. Bragg looked to Gordon, nodding.

“Fine. Just one shot to aid your recovery and you may go back to your room.” The tired patient would have been relieved if it weren’t for the massive syringe pointed right at him. Bragg advanced, ignoring Bernstein’s futile efforts at resistance. Clearly the blonde was apprehensive, or even afraid of receiving the shot. 

“Abe. Come collect your patient please.”

The inpatient had been more than relieved as the two doctors headed out. He sighed exhausted, shaking slightly from fatigue and the medication. The orderly that had been sent in seemed to be joking around with him, but the patient could not relate to his humour. Even with amnesia, he could tell that Abe was having his fun as he talked about heading back to the presidential suite and a spa treatment. Apparently the patient must have met him before, but he had no memory of this orderly. Abe was a complete stranger to him. The raven still grinned to himself as if amused by his own joke, leaving Chuck none the wiser as to how this inside joke worked. How he wished he could just go to sleep and drone out this nonsensical blabber. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally reached the beginning of the game. Next chapters will be focused on Gordon.


	6. Sole Proprietor

_A brief history of Blackwood Pines_

_The known history of Mount Madahee stretches back to the 1300s when initial European exploration revealed it to be the territory of a number of tribes in the Indian Nation. After hundreds of years of relative peace, the mining boom of the 1850s brought in mining hordes with ambition in their eyes and a dream to strike it lucky._ _The mineral-rich mountain's potential was finally realised in 1898 when Jefferson Bragg discovered an abundance of iron and radium beneath the surface of the mountain. After setting up more formalised operations, which then turned into a fully-fledged mining company, it wasn't long before the money began to flow._ _The success of Bragg's mining operation was soon followed by the discovery of hot springs in the mountain, which led him to establish our luxurious Blackwood Pines Hotel and Sanatorium resort in 1922. To this day we continue to carry Bragg’s vision and strive to provide a luxury retreat in the heart of Mount Madahee._

_\- Blackwood Pines Holiday Brochure_

“He’s a clean slate,” Gordon noted, sitting next to Bragg while on his lunch break. “He’s just a blank page now. I don’t think there’s any reason to continue his treatments.” The doctor took another spoon of his split pea soup, mumbling. “When you said he wouldn’t even remember his own name I thought you were joking. I thought we only planned on wiping his memories of the last month or so.” Gordon now shoved the bowl aside, grimacing. “I think I’ll start packing my own food in future, since you refuse to have the cook’s do anything decent.” He said that almost every week, but never actually ended up doing it. Why bother if he could just try to steal Anna’s food? After all, that’s what siblings were for. 

Bragg looked to his subordinate, expression unreadable. “It’s true. I didn’t mean to erase his whole memory... it must have been a side effect of the concussion he suffered. But at least he still remembers basic things. The journalist still knows left from right, knows how to walk and talk. He even remembers what year it is...” The unexpected pause had Gordon’s attention drawn back from his coffee to Bragg.

“He remembered being caught. Somehow that memory had remained somewhere in his subconscious. Perhaps due to the great fear attached to it. But it seems we managed to get it under control as well.”

That made sense. Gordon offered a nod. “Still… he lost almost everything. How will he function now?” Bragg looked back to Gordon, completely unconcerned by how they had shattered a whole life worth of memories.

“The past was erased, the erasure was forgotten, the lie became the truth.”

Gordon leaned back into his chair as he took in the words. “Ah, George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four.” Bragg nodded as Gordon correctly identified the source of his quote. Gordon then continued, adding another one of Orwell’s quotes to the conversation.

“Power is tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing…” He glanced at Bragg, seemingly analysing the other. “You’ve enjoyed the power of playing god, now what will your new creation become?” The head-doctor looked over the room, letting the pause draw out. “A clean slate… a blank canvas. We can remodel him however we wish.”

Bragg then looked to his notebook in which they had written Chuck’s progress. “At least that’s one thing going well. I wish I could say the same for the miners. But yes, continuing his treatments daily seems unnecessary. If we stop today he will only have memories from now onwards. There’s no more need to wipe his daily memories. Unless...” The head-doctor paused again. Gordon waited for a bit, anticipating a continuation to the conversation. Slowly Bragg’s games were starting to agitate him. “Unless what?” Bragg looked to his doctor. “If you were a reporter who wanted to get out, what would you do?” Gordon frowned, “Fight my way out.” 

“Or play along,” Bragg added. “What if the reporter is just playing along. What if our treatments aren’t actually as effective as we think?” Gordon raised an unsure, confused brow. “Dr Bragg, it really looks like it’s working. Just look at him. He’s completely different than before. His eyes are hollow, and he is clearly lethargic.” Bragg stood up, obviously having set his mind to something. There was nothing Gordon could do now, Bragg would pursue this. Sighing Gordon leaned back, finishing off his coffee in one go. Heaven knew he would need it. “Fine, how will you find out if he is fooling us?” Bragg looked to Gordon thoughtful. “He has not seen your face since the day he first bumped into you. Even then he wasn’t focused on you at all. Too much happened that day for him to take note of you.” Gordon did not like where this was going. “So...?” 

“Gordon, I think it would be best if you went undercover as an inpatient. Be Chuck’s roommate, and find out if his amnesia is real.”

It was the thud of his chair that made Gordon realise that he had jumped to his feet. Blinking a few times, the man hoped he had heard the words wrong, but they kept on replaying back the same way. Slowly the brunette’s lips pinched into thin lines. “Wow, you did it now Jefferson. An Inpatient? Really?! Me, a doctor?! You know it’s annoying enough that you can’t even refer to me by my title and surname like all the other doctors. But now this? And with a German none the less?!” Gordon had not noticed how close he had stepped to his superior, unwavering eyes trying to assert dominion. “I am a doctor too! There’s no way in hell I am staying locked in a cell with no heating, no coffee and unpalatable sandwiches! Just because I’m not as old and experienced as everyone else is no excuse to treat me like this!”

Bragg let the younger doctor continue on his rant without interruption, face unbothered by the words. “I am so sorry, _Dr Bennet_. You always do become rather unpleasant when you are hungry. I should have saved this conversation for after lunch.” The name sounded rather sarcastic now. “I know how major an inconvenience this is. It’s not that I think of you as lesser than Dr Bowen, Dr Cathcart or Dr Castle. Actually, I see a lot of my younger self in you. Let’s sit and talk.” Bragg motioned, sitting himself down. Gordon seemed to have calmed just a bit, realising an outburst would not help his situation. But he still refused to sit down like a dog. “You know, I won’t be around much longer. My retirement is coming up.” Bragg looked to Gordon, still stubbornly standing before the head-doctor. “I have thought about this long and hard. There are quite a few capable doctor’s and colleagues that would be worthy of inheriting my establishments.”

Gordon sighed frustrated. “Why are you telling me this? Dr Bowen is your best doctor. Nicholas is an amazing guy. He taught me a lot. You also left him in charge of the miners. You should be having this conversation with him.” Gordon did not appreciate Bragg pushing this on him. “I bet you want to tell me that this experience will add character to me, enhance my professional abilities and then maybe someday I can be half as successful as Dr Bowen and you.”

“How about you let me finish?” Bragg hushed. “Dr Bowen is one of my best. Lots of experience and character, as you say. But he too is getting older and lacks fresh vision. I also know that Dr Bowen is planning an early retirement.” Gordon had taken to pacing the empty cafeteria. Thank goodness no one else was around to see his freak out. This really should have been a discussion for the office. 

“I really wish you would stop that and listen.” Bragg sighed, as he usually did to convey his exasperation and frustration. “Well, you can’t make me.” Gordon retorted, arms folded over his chest. “Listen Bragg. With all due respect, I don’t want your Sanatorium. I don’t want your hotel or your mines. I don’t want any of it.” He stopped in front of the proprietor of it all, voice crude and harsh. “Convenient that you would finally want to retire now, don’t you think? Your mines have collapsed and would need extensive repairs at an insufferable cost. Not including the hush money you would need to pay to keep your contractors from spilling the guts on letting your men work in a place that’s not up to code. Your hotel’s glory days have been over ever since the great depression. No one wants to stay in a hotel next to an asylum anyway, no matter how good the view is. All you have left is your sanatorium, which you now use for convenient undercover experiments. And don’t even get me started on the miners...” Once spoken, Gordon softly bit down on his lip. He knew he had said too much. When had things become so out of hand, and how did it take them all so long to notice? Bragg still appeared calm, but his twitching eyes glowered down on the younger man before him as he stood up.

“Alright Gordon. You are right. We are in a terrible mess. The mass grave has been shovelled for all of us. Bowen knows this, it’s why he wants out. It seems you do too. I suspect you want to be fired so that you can get yourself and Anna out of this mess.” Dr Bragg walked on past Gordon, only stopping to grab him by the shoulder. “This conversation is not over yet Gordon.” With that he left, the empty cafeteria sub-coming to silence once again. Gordon stood there for a solid minute, mind blank. Bragg was a sophisticated man, but Gordon knew that he had angered him. This conversation would surely have repercussions.

“I think I messed up Anna,” Gordon mumbled, dropping into a seat in his sister’s office. Anna did not look up as she continued her paperwork. “Mess up as in ‘I again ate another family-sized pie and have terrible stomach ache’, or mess up like ‘I think I got us both fired.’” Gordon could not help but let out a quiet chuckle. “You just won’t let that go, will you? I told you it was an accident...” He then gulped, not sure how to confirm the latter statement. “Yeah, you accidentally stole and ate my 3 days’ worth of pie I brought in for work. And that in one sitting.” She grinned, finally looking up from her paperwork. “So, what is this mess you got us into?”

Gordon averted his gaze, finding particular interest in a small crack on the wall. “Well... Bragg wants to hand over ownership of the Sanatorium to me when he retires.” Anna raised a brow. “Oh, you? Not Dr Bowen? Why do you seem so upset about it? Isn’t this good news?” Gordon refocused his attention on his sister before lowering his head. “Anna. Look around. This place is a disaster, if the police ever found out about the mines or the treatments it would all be shut down. I feel like Bragg just dug himself a hole but wants to bury me inside it instead.” Anna nodded, understanding. “I know that things haven’t exactly been going so well. But if you got this place we could work together. Close down the mines permanently, and convert the rest of the hotel into a retirement home or more patient rooms. We could clean this sanatorium up and start fresh.” A hand softly placed itself onto Gordon’s arm. “Together we could do it.” 

Gordon looked to the hand, placing his other hand on top of Anna’s. “You really think so? You don’t think the police will barge in and have us both arrested for the things Bragg did? That we could just go back to the old days in which we just helped people?” Anna nodded softly watching Gordon sigh. “Well, Bragg actually only wants to offer me this place if I go undercover as an inpatient to find out whether the reporter really has amnesia. Just a few days he says.” 

“It’s not a bad deal.” Anna considered. “Just a few days, right? Maybe you should sleep on it. Apologise to Bragg for whatever you may have said, and clear the air. It’s up to you Gordon. I know it will be a lot of work, and you definitely will be in way over your head.” She smiled playfully. “But I’ll help keep your head above water.” Gordon scoffed, the ghost of a smile lining his lips. “Yeah, thank you Anna.” With that he got up, looking around. “So... where are you hiding your food today?”

* * *

“To say that I am disappointed would not begin to cover it. Have you never been told not to bite the hand that feeds you?”

The day had passed, Gordon having approached Bragg’s office the next day as Anna had suggested. Standing here in Bragg’s office, he felt like a kid in school getting scolded by the principal. Music blurred in the background. 

_Forgive me, please forgive me..._

Of all songs, why this song. Gordon shuffled a bit. “I am sorry Dr Bragg. I was completely out of line.” 

Bragg looked out of his window. “This is my place. I built this all myself. Years of hard work.” The elder man readjusted his glasses, eyes never wavering from what he had built. “You know I was still a young man when I first set eyes on this mountain. It has been almost 55 years now since the mines opened, and later the Sanatorium and hotel. This is where all my time went. I never had children, my work is the closest thing to a child. These are my life achievements.” 

“I’m really sorry,” Gordon mumbled again, eyes to the ground. “I understand if you want to fire me now, or lock me in the cell without compensation. But please let Anna continue her work. She hasn’t done anything wrong.” 

Bragg moved from the window over to Gordon. “Anna... she really is a great doctor. How many places would allow a woman to work as a doctor, Gordon? How many female doctors do you know, Gordon?” 

The brunette raised his gaze, debating his answer. It was the same for both of them. “None...” 

Bragg nodded, continuing on as he walked slow circles around Bennet. “It would be a real shame if she lost her job here... Perhaps you two can continue working here under someone new. Or perhaps your new boss won’t be all to flexible on having a female doctor around. That’s a best-case scenario of course. Perhaps I just leave, Bernstein gets out and reports everything. I will be long gone, but what about you, Anna and the rest of the staff? At the very least you will be accomplices to my experiments and crimes. Perhaps you’ll go to jail for a while.” Bragg now stopped right in front of Gordon, leaning in on him. “Do you know what they do to women in jail Dr Bennet?” 

Gordon ground his teeth, tension building up in his shoulders as he narrowed his eyes. “I said I am sorry, okay?! I’ll go in the dammed cell. I’ll be an inpatient for a few days. Just please stop talking.” Exasperation filled the air as Gordon raised his eyes to Bragg. “I will do it.” Bragg stepped back, finally leaving Gordon some breathing space. He chuckled lightly. “You should see your face Gordon. Don’t worry, I was just pushing you a little.” He stepped back to his window. “It’s only a few days. I’ll be retiring next year, if you still want it this place will be all yours.”


	7. Roommate

Brandy or coffee? That was the question. Hell, Gordon felt like he needed both. How would a brandy coffee taste? Pouring a shot of brandy in his coffee, Gordon looked over his shoulder at familiar footsteps. Anna had walked into his office, examining the scene. Papers and clipboards littered the floor, Gordon’s chair knocked over into a cabinet. “I love what you’ve done with the place. I guess Bragg gave you a hard time then.” Anna noted, setting up the chair before taking a seat. 

Gordon took a gulp of his coffee, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Sorry.” He then went about picking up the clipboard and strew papers, dropping them back of his desk. Anna watched silently before Gordon leaned on the edge of his desk. “...I’m going in as an inpatient... it’s just a few days. Maybe three or four, starting tomorrow.” She nodded in response. “I see... Maybe I could convince Bragg to let me go instead.” Anna offered up, it was clear how much her brother didn’t want to do this. But he quickly shook his head. “No, absolutely not. I would never do that you. Besides, he is a man. You are a woman.”

“So?” 

Gordon raised a brow. “So? Well for starters roommates are always the same gender. Secondly, he is a German. He may have a Canadian mother, but he was raised by a German. Thirdly, he is a man. A man who has been stuck in a cell all alone for a while. And you are a pretty woman. By some standards,” he grinned slightly. 

Anna considered the words, nodding. “Yeah okay, I get it. Fine then. But when you come out I will have a whole family pie waiting just for you.” Gordon smiled softly. “Heh, you are mean. I won’t ever make that mistake again. My stomach really was killing me.” Anna laughed now. “Serves you right Gordo, stealing my food and then still daring to whine about how full you were in front of the starving miners.”

“First off, it was an accident. I thought you made that for me as a late birthday gift. Secondly, That wasn’t on purpose either. At the time, I didn’t know Bragg had commenced a new study on the effects of starvation.” 

Anna nodded, reverting back to the original topic. She looked thoughtful, psychoanalysing her brother like they would a patient. “Is part of the reason you are so reluctant to go in because you are worried you might get too close to him? Perhaps this is a sign from the universe. Go in, get to know him better, become friendlier.” Gordon looked back at Anna both annoyed and surprised, mouth slightly a-gap. “...Please Anna, stop talking like that. You know it’s illegal. Besides, he is my patient and I zapped all his memories. To top it all off he’s German... A relationship with such foundations is... disastrous.”

Gordon straightened himself up again. “I’ve got some patient’s I need to attend to before going in tomorrow. See you later Anna.” 

Screams and shouts echoed off the long hallways, they had been getting louder and more frequent. He gave a nod of acknowledgement to Abe, who passed by with a sheeted body en route the morgue. “Hey Abe. One of the miners?” Abe shook his head. “Dr Bennet. Nah. Still going strong. One of them bit Evelyn.” Upon seeing the slightly confused and concerned look Gordon gave him, he quickly added; “Oh no, no. She is fine. This just one of the psychiatric patients who hung himself with his bedsheets.” He reassured softly. “Oh, good. I mean- you know....” Gordon nodded head low. “Well, see you around Abe.” Quickly he moved on, only stopping in front of Bernstein’s cell. He glanced inside while keeping his distance. Chuck sat on his bed, rocking back and forth slowly as he mumbled. It was not an uncommon sight in this place. Gordon had realised a while ago that a few of his patients would start rocking themselves. It seemed to be a stress response, a comforting simulation of what it was like to be rocked as a baby. It seemed to calm them. Gordon tried to listen in, tried to make sense of the mumbling, but he was too far away. There was no point, standing there would just get him spotted, so Gordon walked on. There was a lot that still needed attending to. 

The patient was lost in thought. He was trying so hard to remember. Yesterday, that cleaner’s closet that they had passed by, that was the room! He remembered being in there. The man was so sure of it. Was he wearing a doctor’s uniform? He thought he was. “Am I a doctor...? Then why can I remember being here in January.” It was again a soft mumble. The patient grabbed the book and pen beside his bed, jotting down his thoughts and suspicions inside it. He had done this before apparently. There were already squiggled lines identical to his own writing. Nothing of particular interest that could help him though. Just questions as to who he was. That wouldn’t do. The inpatient realised he would have to do a better job at noting down his memories. 

_It’s February 8th, 1952, at the Blackwood Pines Sanatorium. I remember going for a session yesterday, but not much beyond that. I must have been a patient here for a few weeks already. I remember being here in January and being caught by a faceless man in the cleaner’s closet. I was wearing a doctor’s uniform. Did I work here? Did I piss someone off that they put me in here? Maybe I was just attacked by a patient and got some temporary memory loss. The doctor said I’ll be fine..._

The Inpatient then shut the book and tucked it away, looking to the door to make sure no one was watching. It was odd that Abe hadn’t come by to bring him for his session, but the patient was glad for the break. It gave him time to recollect his thoughts and memories at his own pace. 

9th February 1953

Dr Bowen and Dr Castle had called an emergency staff meeting. The room was dark and silent as the doctors demonstrated a slide show. “These changes are something we have never seen before. The frontal incisors and canines have all sharpened significantly. The miner’s eyes have also sunken with the pupils growing milkier by the day.” Photographs slid past on the projector, showing people that really looked more dead than alive. “Despite clipping their nails, they seem to come back longer, stronger and sharper each day. We have also observed some slight hair loss in 4 of the patients, while 7 of them no longer seem to have properly functioning lips. Their nasal septa are also beginning to collapse or shrink.”

Dr Bragg sat in his seat, listening quietly. “What about their behaviour?” 

Dr Castle spoke up now. “The miners are more agitated and aggressive. Mostly they now shriek rather than talk. When they do talk its pleads for food, begging for the pain to stop, or threats. They also seem to talk to themselves more frequently and may be experiencing auditory hallucinations. Patient 8 was obsessively scratching onto the walls until his hands bleed, while patient 9 reached his hands through the bars, managing to grab Nurse Sarah...” There was a soft pause. “He yanked her arm through the bars and started eating her. Dr Cathcart has her in ICU right now, he will need to amputate her arm. An orderly managed to save her by swinging an axe at patient 9. It has left a large gash along his forehead. At the moment he is unconscious but alive.’

Bragg nodded softly. “I understand. We will give our utmost care to nurse Sarah and she and the orderly will be highly compensated. If patient 9 continues this rampage we might have to euthanize him. Poor Billy, he was so promising.” He then looked back to Bowen. “So, what is the diagnosis?” 

Another tense pause. “I- I’m not sure Dr Bragg... I have never seen anything like this before. It could be that we disturbed a dormant infection or disease in the mountain. The infection seems to target both their minds and bodies. The miners are also showing early signs of decay. Their temperature is extremely low. Their skin is turning pale white and grey, and is hard and cold to the touch. Even their vision is deteriorating.” 

Dr Castle joined in, adding, “They seem to be slowly dying Dr Bragg. The miners will not survive or recover. I give them a week at most before their body fully shuts down. Luckily as of yet it seems that they are not infectious. But it could simply be that the symptoms have a long onset time.” 

Bragg sighed, and stood up, pacing the room. “Well, we will just need to tell the families that we did our very best... but that is a worry for later. Right now I need you to find out if that disease is infectious.” He then stopped by Anna and Gordon. “Anything to contribute?”

Gordon looked up to Bragg before looking over his notes. “Our patients are complaining of nightmares. They say they come at night, only at night. They are all showing symptoms of sleep deprivation, and possible auditory hallucinations. There’s a lot more shouting and screaming, but that may not be of correlation.”

Bragg nodded at that. “Alright. There seems to be some minor overlap to the miner’s early symptoms. We will need to monitor that closely.” He then turned his attention to Anna. “Another one of the psychiatric patients hung himself. Second one this week.” Anna explained. “It seems the lobotomy did not help.” 

Bragg looked over all his doctors. “We must keep this under wraps. No one may know what is happening here. On that note. Gordon has volunteered to keep an eye on the Journalist under the pretence of being his new roommate.” Gordon softly ground his teeth, head low. Right now was the worst time to go in as an inpatient. 

Dr Bowen looked up in surprise, gaze shifting between the two men. 

“Dr Bennet? Why? Dr Bragg, we need all hands on deck with this. We can’t afford to let Bennet be stuck in a cell for days. This situation is hardly manageable as it is.” It was a desperate plead from an overworked colleague, and Gordon wished nothing more than to help. He too looked to Bragg expectantly. Perhaps this situation had changed things, Bowen was right after all. 

“No. We will be fine. Anyhow the miners will be deceased soon and then we need to handle the aftermath. Perhaps it is for the best, that way they can’t tell anyone about the flaws in the mines. We will find a logical explanation that the families will understand. Just a few more days then everything will be back to normal again,” Bragg reassured, eyes focusing on the gloomy faces before him. “This meeting is dismissed. Oh, and Dr Castle, please update Dr Cathcart on our meeting once he is done with his surgery. Thank you.” 

The room emptied out, Gordon trying to sneak out along them, to no avail. “Gordon wait. It’s time you get ready for your charge.” Gordon had paused at the door as the others shuffled past him. “...I know... I’ll be ready to go in soon. Just give me an hour.” With that, he left the meeting room. 

Gordon stood in his office, enjoying the heating. It would just be a few days, he reminded himself again. Getting undressed Gordon hung up his lab coat and also removed his shirt, tie and pants. He grabbed the patient uniform, scoffing at it. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as his own clothes, leaving a light itch. Gordon was still scratching at the new clothes as Anna walked in, face amused. “I guess it’s not so nice being on the receiving end.” Gordon just glared at her but offered no answer. 

“I brought you some coffee. I thought you might need some.” 

The brunette’s eyes shifted from his sister to the mug, accepting it. “Thank you.” He mumbled quietly. 

“Well, I’ll see you again in a few days...” Gordon nodded to himself, as his sister came up to him and pat him on the back. “Yes, you will and then we can laugh over some brandy and pie about how stupid this whole thing was. I am sure you will have so many funny stories to share. I look forward to them, so take care Gordo.” Anna teased as she watched Gordon head out. He stopped just beyond the door frame, looking back to his sister. Gordon checked over his sister again, debating if he should say something, but instead settled on a nod before disappearing.

“He is sleeping right now. Has actually been sleeping a lot since the treatments started. He’s become quite docile and withdrawn,” Victoria explained quietly as she opened the cell door. Gordon ignored her, walking on in and glancing around. “Has my bedding been changed since the last inmate? I don’t want to sleep on someone else’s drool and piss,” Gordon asked looking to the bed. “Don’t worry, the maids already changed it out. It’s just hard to get all the stains out, but it has definitely been washed.” He was assured with a smile. “Now make yourself comfortable. Breakfast is only in half an hour.”

The door shut behind Gordon, the doctor now stepping back to the cell window. He tested the door. Of course it was locked. He knew it would be locked, but that did not change the slight uncertainty and frustration building up inside of him. The cell was silent. Good, it seemed at least this reporter would not keep him up at night with snores. Gordon quietly stepped closer to the journalist. He still looked much the same, sandy blonde hair falling over his shut eyes, cuddled up in the foetal position. Well, now there was nothing to do but wait. The bed wasn’t the most comfortable, but it would only be a few days. He could do this. It would be over soon. Really this was nothing, Gordon had experienced far worse already. 

* * *

Waves of emerald showered him, the waves almost drowning him. Fight it. Fight it! The waves disintegrated, taking on a dark mist in old corridors. “You do understand I only want what’s best for you?” The voice echoed endlessly, unrelenting and exhausting. Slowly the man’s eyes fluttered open, gasping as the familiar dream cleared from his mind. The Inpatient sighed as he sat up, stretching his back and neck before freezing. 

Gordon had never seen anyone straighten up that fast before. Like a deer in headlights, his charge observed him in confusion. Gordon noticed the wide dilation of his roommate’s eyes, but beyond that there was a spark of interest and curiosity. 

A stranger. He knew it was a stranger. Bernstein was damn sure he never had a roommate. This was new. He was new. His heartbeat raced a little faster. Was it in anticipation, excitement or trepidation? He did not know but welcomed the emotion. Before either could speak the heavy cell door opened with a creak. 

“Good morning gentlemen.” Victoria’s cheery voice called out. She stopped before Chuck, who’s gaze never left Gordon. “Who’s that?” For the first time in days, Victoria noticed a curiosity and alertness in the patient’s voice. His usual dark and weary, disinterested eyes were now sharpened by the sight before him. Victoria looked over the Bennet before turning her attention back to the inpatient. “This is your new roommate. You should introduce yourself. You can finally learn how to get along with other people.”

Seemingly satisfied with the answer the blonde’s gaze broke away from Gordon, eyes now following Victoria as she set down the sandwiches. “You should know that we are very encouraged by your progress-“ Shouts and pleas of despair echoed through the halls, drawing away the Inpatient’s attention as Victoria talked on. It was unnerving, even as Victoria complimented him. Upon her departure, the Inpatient finally got up. He eyed his new roommate before taking a few steps towards him. 

Gordon sighed, pushing himself up slightly. It was time to get to work. He just hoped this would be over soon. “So, we might as well get to know each other if we're stuck here. The name’s Gordon. How about you?” Gordon noticed the uncertainty in his charge’s eyes as they flickered between the ground and Gordon. 

There was a pause. ‘Say something idiot. Say something, anything!’ After an uncomfortable gulp, the patient sighed. “I-I don’t know. I cannot remember.” 

Gordon sat up now, noting how the patient wrapped his arms around himself, head bowed as he looked away. The new emotion of uncertainty washed over the previously curious eyes of his charge. He already knew that Chuck wouldn’t remember his own name. “Figures. Half the people here don’t know them-self from Adam. I guess they got you in for Amnesia too.” Gordon retorted. While he was studying his patient, his patient was studying him.

“Yeah, they do actually. You have it too?” There was a genuine interest in Bernstein’s voice, almost like excitement at finding another person like himself. 

“Not really. They say I have amnesia. But most everything is pretty clear to me. I remember... So these treatments, do they ever get any easier?”

It was a good question. The patient stopped to consider it. He could not recall much, but that which he did was not at all pleasant. “It’s not all that pleasant. At times it can seem barbaric. So how come you are here if your Amnesia is pretty mild?” 

Curiosity really did kill the cat, Gordon thought to himself. He should have expected it. This man was a journalist after all. Being curious and inquisitive would, of course, be in his nature. “Yikes. I don’t know how much more I can take...” He paused hoping that would do, but his charge still stood there, seemingly anticipating an answer. “Ugh, ouch. Sorry. My head really hurts. I think I’ll grab some shut-eye for a while longer.” He grumbled, turning around to ‘sleep’.

“Oh, yeah of course.” The inpatient stepped back. He knew of the headache’s all too well himself. A roommate... there was a soft smile on his lips now. Someone to talk to, to play chess with, to eat with. A companion. Perhaps his days of boredom would finally be over now. With that thought on his mind, the patient ate his sandwich. It was a tuna sandwich today. He remembered yesterday had been egg. This was good. His memory was improving slightly. The patient wondered if he would have another session today. He hoped not, the sessions were terrible and he always felt worse after. Another memory crept up on Bernstein as he looked out the window. One of Victoria, back from late January. That’s right. He had been here a while. Sitting down the former journalist took out his bible diary, writing another entry. 

_Feb 9th_

_Today I got a new roommate: Gordon. Seems stoic and reserved, but friendly. I haven’t gotten back many more memories, but I do remember the past two or 3 days clearly, which is an improvement. Hopefully, I get to know Gordon a bit better when he gets up. I am glad that my boredom will finally be alleviated._

It was a bit later that Gordon had gotten up, sitting in his bed. Chuck had joined him again, not able to stay away now that he finally got the chance for human connection. They had continued chatting a bit more.

“So have the treatments knocked anything lose up there?” 

The Inpatient considered it. He had many theories, but not enough memories to be conclusive yet. “Yeah, bits and pieces.”

“That all? Just bits and pieces?” Gordon raised a slight brow, eyeing his charge. Perhaps he was not the trusting kind, or perhaps he really did not remember. Gordon would never get anywhere fast like this. 

His charge nodded. “Well, I remember being here in January. So I have been here a while.” Gordon nodded at that, waiting to see if Chuck would elaborate. But alas he didn’t. Not receiving anything further Gordon decided that he had done enough probing for today, lest he were to raise suspicions. 

Night had fallen as Gordon lay awake in bed. He tossed and turned, not able to find comfort on the worn mattress and squeaky bed. His charge on the other hand seemed to be sleeping already. Victoria had been right. He really did sleep a lot. The guy had fallen asleep in the afternoon and hadn’t woken before lights out. He would probably sleep through the night. If only the same could be said for Gordon. Deciding that rest was not going to come yet, he got up to peer out the window. There was of course not much to see in the darkness. Still, the moonlight glistened against the mountain tops, while the trees cast long shadows. The darkness was slightly unnerving, with Gordon turning away to look through the cell bars. There was still the occasional nightmare induced scream, but otherwise all was quiet. The daytime music had been turned off and the familiar footsteps of staff had ceased. Sighing Gordon returned to bed, sitting and watching his charge. The previously quiet roommate started whimpering softly in his sleep, body now tossing and turning restlessly. Curious the doctor got up, stepping closer to his patient. He was not used to seeing his patients at night, sleeping. The blonde was grinding his teeth, lips moving but no sound being emitted. It was probably just a nightmare. Plenty of patients experienced them. Gordon debated whether he should wake his charge or not, but decided against it. Perhaps it was best just to let him sleep. Gordon returned to bed, staring at the ceiling. He hoped the silence would engulf him into slumber, but instead his mind grew noisy.

“They come at night. Only at night.” 

Gordon remembered a patient saying those words in great distress. The words echoed in his mind, growing louder and more desperate. He shut his eyes, hoping it would also shut up the ringing in his head. “Just sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who may be reading this, I have been busy, sorry. And sorry for the slapdash editing. Here's a longer chapter to make up for it?


	8. Patience

10th February 1952

The sun shone warmly through the window as the Inpatient slowly sat up. Rubbing his eyes he looked over to his new roommate who also seemed just to have awoken.

“Good Morning.” He offered, to which Gordon slowly raised his head with a grunt. “Morning,” was the mumbled, groggy reply. Coffee. He needed coffee. The inpatient’s eyes scanned over Gordon. “Didn’t sleep very well I guess.” Gordon looked up at that, snorting at the realisation that his own patient was now studying him like a subject of interest. “Yeah. Not too well. How about yourself?” He asked getting up to approach the cell door. “A bit better than usual.” The inpatient replied, despite Gordon’s focus being on the outside of the cell.

“Victoria won’t be here for another half hour at least,” the blonde then added. He had gotten used to the rhythm of the place. Gordon finally looked back to Chuck with a sigh. “I know, I know.” He paced the room for a bit, with the inpatient’s eyes never leaving him. After however long he had been in here alone, even seeing someone pace back and forth was of interest.

Gordon grumbled quietly as he stopped before his charge, now side eying him with annoyance. It made for rather awkward eye contact. But the inpatient refused to break it. Lifting his head back Gordon sighed, “Seems I’m pretty amusing to you.”

The inpatient’s lips curled up slightly. “Maybe, or maybe I simply enjoy even the simplest sights after being here alone. You have no idea how bored I have been. Besides, you seem like an interesting character...” 

Gordon tilted his head slightly. “Hm, really? Interesting? What do you make of me?”

They both turned their attention back to the door upon hearing the approaching footsteps. Seems Victoria had arrived early today. 

Victoria had entered with her trays of sandwiches, looking over Chuck’s empty plate. “As expected. At least someone here appreciates our efforts. Your increase in appetite is a good sign. We are very pleased with your progress.” The Inpatient flushed slightly, giving a nod in return. “Right. Thank you.”

Gordon groaned at the display, shaking his head. “Enough already. If you don’t have coffee you can leave.” Both the Inpatient and Victoria turned their attention back to Gordon. The nurse seemed to debate whether to answer before silently leaving with her head slightly bowed. The blonde observed the interaction, but said nothing about it, instead focusing on the food that had arrived. 

Just a few more days, then he would be free to go. Gordon glanced at the sandwich which he knew would be implantable before looking from his meal to his charge. The inpatient munched away at his sandwich, seemingly still flustered at how Victoria had called him out on his appetite. 

“Ugh, how can you, or anyone for that matter, eat this stuff?” Gordon grumbled as he nibbled the corner of his sandwich. He had taken a seat next to his bed, looking over to Chuck who was on his last bite.

“Well, it’s just food in the tank. No one said it was delicious.”

Gordon huffed at the response, taking another nibble. He wasn’t hungry enough to appreciate the sandwich just yet. But he knew by lunch he would be demolishing it. Maybe he should be grateful for the fact that they got fed at all. Not everyone in this sanatorium got that lucky. “Yeah. But the food, the cell, the treatments, none of it is appeasing. Come on, admit it. You want out, don’t you?” Gordon looked up to his charge. Hell, even he wanted out and it had only been a day. Being on the receiving end of his treatments really was unfavourable. Besides, he hoped to learn if Chuck was truly amnesiac or not. The sooner he found out, the sooner he could leave this dammed cell.

The inpatient stood there thinking for a while. Softly he then nodded with a hushed voice. “Yeah... I do want to leave, as soon as possible. I don’t really think staying here is helping me.” Then again, where would he go? He did not remember any family or friends. “But I would need to regain more memory first.”

Gordon nodded as he listened. “Wow, I am shocked. You would give up this 5-star cuisine?”

The inpatient started chuckling at that, eyes sparking with playful amusement. “For such a bitter sarcastic man, you are pretty funny.” 

Gordon’s face stayed neutral, though he was surprised that he had made the journalist laugh. He ignored the- the insult? - It wasn’t really an insult, and instead shrugged lightly. This was actually pretty good though. The doctor could not remember the last time he had seen one of his patients laugh. It felt good? Gordon felt like he was building up trust with his charge, which he hoped would help discover the truth. “Well, how much of your memory do you have? They say that I have amnesia, but the strange thing is my memory seems pretty clear to me. Is it the same for you?” 

“Yeah, you said that yesterday already.” The inpatient reminded as he took a seat on the floor in front of Gordon. “Well, I do have my suspicions. Something isn’t quite right here, you know? But I need just a bit more before I can tell you what I think happened. I don’t want you to think I’m an idiot who belongs in the psychiatric wing.” He explained jokingly. But for now, the patient thought it best to keep his suspicions of being a doctor to himself. 

Gordon’s eyes narrowed slightly, brows knotted as he studied his charge. “Yeah, I get it. Not the trusting kind.” He had no interest in continuing the conversation beyond that, trying hard not to appear annoyed and frustrated. Why could this guy not just talk? 

“So... how about you tell me more about how you got in here? You kind of avoided the question yesterday.” The inpatient asked curious, hoping not to anger the already annoyed-looking male. Hell, he looked like a psychopath with the way his gaze fell on him. Gordon stared his patient down, lips tightening. The patient could see the irritation flashing across Gordon’s eyes. “Not by choice, that’s for damn sure. I don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled, getting up and moving to his bed. The patient hoped the anger was not directed at him, but it seemed like it was directed at whoever had forced him into this cell. “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.” 

Gordon did not reply at first, instead just looking around the cell in disinterest. “Whatever, it’s fine. I just want to get out of here as soon as possible.” 

The inpatient nodded to himself. “Understandable. I want out too... but I don’t even remember my own name, let alone any family... where would I go?” At the words, Gordon looked back over his shoulder to the other. The inpatient wasn’t looking at him but felt the staring eyes wander his body. “I was hoping that I would be visited by friends or family. Perhaps I have been but just can’t remember. I know for sure though that no one has visited me in the last three or four days. Have I just been forgotten?” There was a bitter sadness in his voice, eyes lifting to his new roommate, seeking reassurance.

Gordon turned back to the other, softly placing a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry pal... One of the doctors told me that they no longer allow visitors to this facility for at least a week or two already. There is a suspected infectious disease in one of the wings, so for safety’s sake no visitors have been allowed into the sanatorium.” The words were delivered with a soft, reassuring squeeze to Chuck’s shoulder, whose body visibly relaxed at the words and gesture. The best part was that it wasn’t even a lie. Gordon had told the truth, or at least part of it. Ever since the miners escalated, the visitation hours had ceased. 

It was good knowing that he hadn’t been abandoned and forgotten. The inpatient was thankful to Gordon, deciding to show his gratitude by sharing his ever so insignificant memory fragments with his roommate. Except for the doctor’s uniform that is. Gordon seemed to appreciate the conversation, actively listening and engaging in it. “So, you remember a man with no face cornering you in a cleaner’s closet on the 14th January? That must have been frightening. What did you do then?” He asked, not just listening but also evaluating his charges body language and expression. Gordon had dealt with many such patients before. By now it was pretty easy to understand his patient’s minds based on how they acted and how they talked. 

Evening had come and gone. Night had snuck upon them. Chuck had settled into bed, looking to the ceiling. He was so tired after interacting with Gordon. Turns out socialising was more exhausting than he had recalled, especially when your roommate keeps probing your memory. He assumed Gordon was only doing it to help him. They had already said good night to each other a while ago, but both parties remained awake. Gordon didn’t even seem to try and sleep as he sat on his bed, studying the marks left on the wall.

The inpatient wanted to sleep. He was so very tired. But while he wanted to sleep, he did not wish to dream. His dreams brought nothing but terror. The patient wondered if Gordon had the same issue. He did not get to ask as his eyes slowly gave in to the darkness. 

Only once the inpatients breathing had evened out did Gordon get up. He took a slip of paper, writing down his day’s observations. As far as he could tell, Bernstein was either an amazing actor, or he was telling the truth. Gordon knew Bragg would probably not be satisfied just yet, but hopefully after tomorrow he would be let out. He slipped the note through the bars knowing Abe or Victoria would find it before their last walk while checking if the patients had fallen asleep. Returning to his bed he stole a glance of his charge. The man was curled up, already drooling slightly into his pillow.

The doctor took a seat on his own bed, eyes turned to the window. He wondered how Anna was doing. Surely well, but he missed her company. It did not matter how much they bickered or snapped at each other, in the end, they always had each other’s backs. Gordon’s mind wandered to his patients and colleagues. How were they holding up? Dr Bowen and Dr Castle probably still had their hands full with the miners. It wasn’t right. He should be there, aiding their efforts. The doctor’s thoughts were interrupted by a muffled scream tearing through the silence. Alert Gordon eyes fell upon his charge who had dug his face into the pillow while shouting. His charge’s hands gripped the sheets, the screaming now replaced by tossing around in silent agony.

Gordon had found himself on his feet, the hair on the back of his neck raised. He didn’t find himself spoked often. Patients screaming were all too common a sight. But never in the pitch-dark night, and never while he was locked in a cell with them. The feeling left as soon as it came. Bernstein was a sane man. He wasn’t like the miners. Still, he continued turning about, mumbling inaudibly. Surely it wasn’t true. The miners, if they had been infectious, then- then all these nightmares were an early symptom. Was Bernstein already infected as well?

Gordon sat down again. It was probably just the patient’s brain dealing with memory loss. Through his job, Gordon had learnt that minds were way too complex for him to ever fully understand. Surely it was just that. His roommate’s movements had calmed down somewhat, at least enough for Gordon to find himself lulled in by sleep. 

* * *

"Are you sleeping? Are you sleeping?" Gordon followed the sound of the echo. The emerald drained out any other colour, fuzzing up the corridors. How had Chuck gotten out? Sprinting his feet barely seemed to touch the ground. Bragg appeared out of the fog, blocking off Gordon’s route.

“Do you know what they do to women in prison, Gordon?”

The fog dissipated as Gordon rushed through it, only stopping as he spotted Chuck, camera in hand. The flashes of the photographs he took revealed a female stripped naked, the inside of her thighs bloody and her throat slit open. Gordon inched closer to the cage of bars containing the bloody scene before freezing as another flash lit up the woman’s face. 

Gasping Gordon shot up. His heart raced as he clutched his chest, the mattress underneath him wet from sweat. The early rays of the sun had only just started reaching past the mountains, leaving the cell in a dim pink hue. It was just a dream. Shit, it was just a nightmare. Gordon sat up on the edge of the bed, face in his hands as he rubbed his eyes before lightly slapping his cheeks. Anna was fine. She was alive and well. It was just a nightmare. 

The Inpatient awoke with a cold sweat, sitting up to rub his forehead. Breathing unevenly, he looked over to his roommate who still had his face in his hands. It was okay, no one was hurting him. His roommate wasn’t a monster trying to kill him. Of course he wasn’t... silly. 

Finally, Gordon looked up, noticing that his charge was awake. They both recognised the expression in each other’s faces, only nodding to acknowledge each other. The room remained silent. It was still early so the patient laid back down to catch a few more hours of sleep. Gordon on the other hand did not dare. Unlike Chuck, he was not used to the nightmares and was unwilling to risk another bad dream. 

The inpatient awoke a few hours later, the sun now bright and warm. Music hummed in the background as he sat up. Gordon got up as soon as he noticed that the other had awoken, heading over to join him on his bed. 

“Hey Gordon,” Chuck mumbled as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Hey, buddy....” Buddy, well that would not work forever, but Gordon supposed it worked for now. 

The Inpatient looked to his roommate, voice soft he asked, “Nightmare?” Gordon nodded slowly. “Yeah... yeah.” 

The Inpatient joined in the slow nod. “First time?” There was a soft snort from Gordon who was staring into space. “No... I’ve had nightmares before.” His charge huffed, voice a little more playful now. “You sure?” 

Gordon now looked straight at his charge, eyes curious. “Yes, but none like that before. You too were ah- shaking the sheets a little last night. You alright?” 

The patient looked back to the ground. “It’s nothing. Same every night, some worse than others. It’s like the room is flooded with a chocking emerald sea, sucking the very life out of me.” Gordon tried not to show too much concern. The situation was worrying him. “Emerald? Usually people dream in colour.”

The patient bit his lips softly, hands rubbing against each other. “They- they don’t feel like they're my dreams. They feel like a film reel that I am forced to watch. Like someone is forcing me to watch. I don’t want to dream anymore.” Had it been another one of his patients Gordon would have written it off as insanity. But this reporter did not have any existing mental conditions that Gordon knew of, besides... the description sounded somewhat similar to what he had heard from other patients and the miners. “Maybe it would help if you talked about it?” 

His charge’s slumped shoulders straightened up a bit as he looked back to Gordon. “Well, you were in my dream. I followed you back to the cell but you disappeared. It’s nothing really.”

Gordon wanted to question Chuck further, especially knowing that he was the source of the nightmare. How did his charge see him? As a doctor? A patient? A ghost? “I- I am sorry that I scared you. What did I look like?” The blonde studied Gordon’s face. The tan skin and dark brown eyes, the way his hair was pushed back by hand. “You looked the same as you do now. Stoic, cynical, but you lacked warmth. Your body moved unnaturally, like a demon.” 

Gordon blinked confused. “You think I’m cynical? A demon?” With that he got up, arms folded. “Why would you say that?” Gordon knew from his studies that dreams were supposed to represent the unconscious fears buried in the depths of the mind. It was only natural to conclude that Chuck saw him as a source of discomfort and fear. Perhaps his subconscious did remember what Gordon had done to him. How he had scrambled the other's mind. 

The inpatient stood up as well, not wanting to be looked down on. “You ask me so many questions, Gordon. But you never want to talk about yourself. I don’t know what you want from me, this is tiring and frustrating for me. I have no idea how to answer your questions. I don’t even remember my own name! You on the other hand have a name and memories!”

The inpatient stood before Gordon, close enough to him that he could feel the warmth of the other's breath.

Gordon was stunned, taking a step back as he scanned over his patient. How had he not realised before? “You are jealous of me?” Of course, it made sense. Gordon had been so annoyed at the mess he had found himself in that he had never even considered that anyone could possibly be jealous of his position. But before him stood a man who had nothing; to him, Gordon had it all; a name, memories, a life.

“Shit. Man, I’m sorry. I’m not used to this. Victoria was right, I need to learn how to be sociable.” The blonde rubbed his forehead, taking a seat on his bed again. Gordon just sat back next to him silently.

The silence was broken by Gordon's soft whisper. “I dreamt about my sister. That she died.” He sat up straighter, looking at nothing in particular. “She’s younger than me. Wears her heart on her sleeve, but still manages to be snarky. I guess she isn’t as refined as is expected of a lady, but then again she never cared much about how others perceive her.”

His charge smiled softly. “She sounds lovely. More women should be like her. Maybe when visiting hours resume I’ll be able to meet her.”

Gordon looked past the cell door, as if hoping she would come by. “Yeah. She’s worth fighting for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow upload, but things have been changing in my life. I guess in everyone's life. Sorry about that. I still love this story, but I've gotten very busy being an essential worker.


End file.
